24 Hours
by samandfreddie38
Summary: She's gone. He has 24 hours to get her back or...well, she'll never be with him or anyone ever again. Sam&Freddie Multi-Chap.
1. Prologue: Ground Zero

**So iCarly ends in four months. Huh. Thoughts?**

**This is the prologue for my new S&F Multi-Chap. The plot might seem overused or boring at first, but just wait. My fingers are tingling just thinking about it, haha. Not writing in first person either oughta be interesting, too.**

**OH. And in this story, Sam and Freddie are both around eighteen years old. They have "those feelings" for each other and both kinda know it but don't do anything to act on it. Yup.**

**Okay I'm done.**

* * *

**Prologue: Ground Zero**

* * *

They thought he was just a punk. Never capable of what he was.

But he's done his research. He's stalked his target. And like the cougar he's concealed within him, he's ready to strike.

Because after all, revenge is the greatest medicine.

* * *

"So," she begins, tearing her cerulean irises away from the bright turquoise sky. "Mushrooms or earthworms?"

He ponders her question while walking beside her, noticing and keeping a record in his memory every time they accidentally graze shoulders. He still feels the sensation swarming around in his stomach as he glances at her blonde hair and slight smirk. "Earthworms," he decides, at the same time she blurts, "Mushrooms."

She gives him an incredulous look that makes his heart wage war with his chest. "You aren't serious."

He shrugs. "Without earthworms, there wouldn't be nutritional soil to even _grow_ mushr-"

"So what, Mr. Encyclopedia? Ever heard of the Potbelly mushroom?" She gets a dreamy look on her face for a moment that makes him grin knowingly. "Pure gold, buddy."

He just smirks at her and replies, "You mean the Portobello mushroom?"

She glares at him, but he sees the smile in her eyes. "Shut up."

He starts counting the lines on the sidewalk they walk over. "You wouldn't have quality bacon without earthworms."

Her eyes widen and he chuckles. "Whatchyoo talkin' 'bout, Benson?"

He nudges her shoulder and he swears his entire left side goes numb. "Pigs eat worms. Good bacon comes from healthy pigs."

"You win," she doesn't hesitate to say. He has that sudden desire to oh-so-casually throw an arm around her shoulder, but resists at the last moment. Not yet.

He hears her sigh beside him and his chest gives another little kick. "Thinking about bacon?"

Her mouth curves into that devious grin he knows so well. "Not exactly."

"Should I be frightened?"

They lock eyes. "Maybe."

And he knows what's coming. But it's too late. Because the truck's already hit him and he's on the ground, struggling for survival.

The survival of his dignity, that is.

The hard cement knives into his spine as she's on top of him, already in the process of pinning his arms above his head. He tries using the muscle he's acquired from going to the gym so often, but she's Sam. Strong like bull.

He's never won their game. But today, that's about to change.

Her hot breath echoes against the side of his face as her knees attempt to pin his thighs in place against the rough surface of the sidewalk. A sly grin makes its way onto his features and something that looks like confusion races across hers.

In three seconds flat, he rolls over to the side, pinning her underneath him, one knee bent inward to restrain her legs and one hand grasping her wrists together above her head. He simply holds the rest of her down with his body weight.

But since she's Sam, she struggles for quite some time. And all the while his face is inches from hers, twisted into a deeply satisfied smirk. When she remains still for a moment, he purrs in her ear, "Giving up, Puckett?"

"I totally let you win," she complains in self-defense.

"Uh huh."

"I did!"

"The Sam I know would never do that. She fights 'til the end. Is this the end?" All she wants to do is slap the grin off his face, but her hands are a little occupied at the moment.

She scowls. "Just get off me, Freddunce. Your breath reeks."

Not knowing if she's lying or not, he self-consciously starts to follow her orders until he hears that sound.

He freezes, one hand still on her arm. "Ssshh." She gives him a confused look. "You hear that?"

Rolling her eyes after a few suspenseful seconds of utter silence, she shoots back, "What, your brain rattling against the inside of your skull? Too often."

But then he hears it again. And this time, so does she. Her wide blue eyes focus on a large bush about ten feet away. Then, the side of the bush explodes.

She bursts out laughing while his heart fiercely pounds away in his chest. "Oh no!" Sam mocks. "Call the nerd police! A killer rabbit's on the loose!" Her body shakes with another round of hysterics as the terrified creature scampers away across the street.

"Okay, okay," he says, letting his adrenaline surge power down. "Oh no, look at that tree!" she continues in mock fear. "Careful, there could be a kitty cat assassin up there!"

He looks away, grinning and rising off the ground. "Alright!" He shoves out a hand. "Get up."

She, of course, ignores his offer for help but stands up anyway. "Sir yes sir, Commander. What other dangers lie ahead, Sir!" She holds a hand to the side of her head in mock salute.

"Okay, I get it!" But he can't help but laugh, just a little. "You're just peeved that I beat you this time."

Her arms cross. "First and _only_ time, Fudgeface."

"Sure."

They continue walking, in silence this time. He can't help but sneak glances at her slightly tanned face and the wisps of blonde hair that cradle it. The way the random gusts of wind play around with those locks, like strings on a puppet. If only he could actually tell her…

Little does he know that his glances are becoming more and more frequent until he's flat-out staring at her.

"Yo, Benson?"

He snaps out of it.

"You're creeping me out with the googly eyes."

He almost sighs. Not yet.

"Sorry. My eyes need something to do."

She snorts, amused. "Your imagination too?"

He gives her what he hopes is a convincing look. "Don't flatter yourself."

He doesn't notice her bite the inside of her cheek. He doesn't notice the downcast expression on her face when she looks away.

But she's Sam. She masks her pain and does so well. "How much longer do we have to walk? My feet've been murdered with a pick ax."

He chuckles. "You're the one that wanted to go. Now you gotta suck it up and walk back."

"Or I can force you to carry me."

He snorts. "I'd like to see how _that_ works."

Her mouth curves into a mischievous grin. "You would, eh?"

"Hey, I bought you all the meat you wanted." He lamely tries to make up excuses to get out of it. "You owe me."

"I owe you squat."

He expects as much.

Freddie almost makes another defensive remark but bites his tongue. How can he be so stupid? This is the perfect opportunity to hold Sam without her biting his head off or kicking him in places that should _never_ be kicked.

"Come onnn…!" she drags out. "Momma's tired!"

They both feel a large hand on opposite sides of their heads.

He never gets the chance to respond.

_CRA-ACK!_

Pain. Mind-splitting pain. Fireworks and stars blind him and shimmer in his field of vision. He stumbles to the side, holding his skull together with both hands, trying to make the excruciating agony end. He's still trying to comprehend what happened. Did she just head-butt him?

And then he hears her scream.

He blinks multiple times, groping around empty space hoping to find her, trying to clear the foggy haze. It takes a couple seconds. He sees her figure.

And another figure gripping her by the neck. Shoving something in her face.

He blinks again, clumsily starts making his way over to her. He's fifteen feet away. "Sam?" The sound of his own voice sends another round of burning pain throughout his brain. He's panicking. He doesn't know what's happening.

The two figures struggle, he hears her cries muffled by the cloth the second figure is smashing against her nose and mouth. Freddie trips and tumbles to the ground, his world spinning. When he gets up, he sees Sam's figure go limp.

He's twenty feet away.

"SAM!" He blinks harder and his vision clears a little more. Enough for him to see the second figure drag Sam away and heave her unmoving body into the back of a dark van across the street.

He breaks into an awkward sprint. "SAM!"

The figure dashes around the car and leaps into the driver's seat. Freddie hears the engine fire up.

"HEY!"

But the van has swallowed them both whole. Its dragonlike roar shakes the earth, and tires squeal as the vehicle peels away.

He attempts to pursue the van. He attempts to get a look at the license plate number. He attempts to bring her back to him by screaming her name over and over again.

All of these attempts fail.

But he never stops running after the van. He watches in horror as it shrinks farther away into the distance until it disappears completely, still screaming her name. He's God knows how many feet away.

_No…no…NO!_

She's gone.

He whips out his Pear Phone, but before dialing those three numbers, he gets a brief glimpse of the time.

4:32 PM

* * *

**So…didya like? Ahem…uh maybe you could review and let me know? Each chapter after this is going to be titled 'Hour [Insert Number Here]'…because the time span of this whole story is pretty much 24 hours plus whatever epilogues I decide to throw in. Hence the title…**

**I can be so creative.**

'**Hour One' coming soon, promise.**


	2. Chapter One: Hour One

**Sorry for the delay…both for this story and the 'Exit Wounds' epilogue (YES, THE RUMORS ARE TRUE!). The transition into college life has been really rocky, especially for me dealing with all my…issues.**

**Chapter One: Hour One**

* * *

4:33 PM

_Where are they?_

He paces the sidewalk, the shrieking pain in his skull releasing another round of agony. The echo in his head doesn't prevent him from almost tearing out all of his hair, though. His tax dollars at work. _Where are the idiot police?_

He knows that it's only been a minute since it happened. He also knows that it can't be true, because it seems like ages since he had that thirty-second conversation with the operator about the event and his location. It can't have been just seconds since he's hung up the phone.

This is _Sam_, for fat cake's sake.

She is the strongest girl—no—the strongest person he's ever known. Physically and emotionally. Who could have overpowered her so quickly and so easily? Who could have made her scream like that? The only time he's heard Sam scream like that is when she and Carly were hanging off the side of the apartment building on that construction platform. And this scream was _much_ worse.

His vision is blurred by a sudden onset of tears. His entire body begins to quake. _No, be strong, be strong. This isn't helping Sam. _

But then he realizes: what will?

* * *

Awakening forced by someone tossing her body onto the concrete floor of…where?

A bone in her right elbow emits a cringe-worthy crack, and she screams her way to consciousness, rolling into a ball and attempting to cradle her injury. She hears a door slam a couple feet away, and she screams again out of hysteria. Darkness envelops her, and she panics, thinking she's gone blind. But there are no windows or lights or cracks under the door of this room.

A fuzzy feeling in her head still exists, and the circumstances are so overwhelming that Sam ends up sobbing into her knees. _Stop crying._ Her arm is torturing her to insanity. _Find a way out._ She accidentally grazes her elbow on the concrete floor, and the pain that results is almost enough to knock her out. Her eyes roll into their sockets. At least they may have; she isn't sure of anything anymore, not with this darkness.

_Stop crying._

After six minutes of sobbing uncontrollably, she finally obeys that voice in her head. Sam attempts to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, but after another two minutes, she sees that it's hopeless. The dark is unrevealing.

Footsteps.

The handle turns.

The light is blinding. And as suddenly as it comes, it's gone.

She's not alone.

Hands grope for her body, and she automatically lashes out with her legs, making contact with the figure. It grunts slightly, but not enough for her to distinguish its gender.

The hands find her right arm. She feels latex gloves squeeze. She sees stars. A quick snap is all it takes for her elbow to bend at an angle that has never been treated by doctors.

She is in too much pain to scream. As the figure leaves and the lock sounds, the agony is too much, and Sam slips into a merciful unconsciousness.

* * *

"And then the van just took off…and…and—and she was in it…and…"

"We need you to try to calm down, son."

_HOW?!_

Freddie suddenly jumps up and abandons the ice pack that the authorities have ordered him to hold to his head. He does his best to ignore the immediate nausea and yells, "Why are you still here? She's out there, and this psycho's going to do who knows what to her!"

"We understand, son. Which way did the van go?"

"That—no—the other…" His eyes widen. "I don't know." Why did he have to pace so much?

He starts crying. "I don't know, I don't know…"

"Please try to focus. Was the person male or female?"

"Ma—" He hesitates. "I don't know." His hands thread through his hair. "God, I don't know! I don't know anything!"

_I don't know anything._

* * *

That cruel action of waking up from a painless unconsciousness.

As soon as she starts to scream, Sam forces herself to stop. _Don't let him…her…whoever…know you're awake. Find a way out. Ignore the pain._

She figures that in a way, it's a good thing that she can't see anything, namely the grotesque appearance of her mangled arm. Sam maneuvers her way onto her knees and shuffles forward. It isn't long before her head cracks against a wall and sends an earthquake throughout her skull.

She can't help it. She screams.

She hears footsteps. The handle. The light. The door closing.

Sam falls back, slamming her butt against the floor, trying to wriggle away from the figure. It's no use, though. The room is no bigger than a closet. A shoe with a hard heel roams her leg, locating her knee. Sam is paralyzed with terror. _Move, you idiot!_

_CRUNCH._

Her shrieks are ignored by the figure as it exits the room.

* * *

"You teenagers do that webshow, right?"

He's incredulous. "What does _that_ have to do with anything? We're wasting time!"

"Maybe the assailant knows of your fame and thinks that your friend is worth something."

Freddie's eyes flash with flames. "She _is_ worth something."

The policeman stammers, looking at the ground. "That's not what I meant, son. I was talking about a ransom. You know, a motive for the abduction. We'll have to record your phone conversations and anyone's who is close to Sam in case the guy contacts you or them…"

Freddie lets the man talk, but he can't listen. How would they come up with a ransom? Anyone who's watched the webshow should know that Sam's mom is a mess. Spencer isn't rich and neither is his own family, and this has all been addressed on the show multiple times. The person should know this.

Deep down, Freddie has a nagging feeling that this has nothing to do with a ransom.

And that's worse, because then the abductor has no reason to keep her alive.

* * *

They're all in his apartment. Police, detectives, investigators. So many uniforms, so many names he hasn't bothered to remember. Equipment everywhere, technology that he doubts will get Sam back. So many sounds: beeping, shuffling, scraping, voices. They all blur together. Ringing.

Ringing.

"This is it, guys!" some man with an insanely awkward mustache announces, bringing Freddie out of his trance. Mustache Man turns to him. "Act normal son, remain calm. Keep him on the line as long as you can. Don't make him angry."

He catches the eye of his mother, shaking in a corner of their living room. He trembles as he taps the option of his Pear Phone to answer the call from Unknown Caller.

"Hello," he monotones, swallowing.

"Hello there, Fredward Benson." The morphed voice makes it impossible to distinguish the gender.

The anger rises up and catches in his throat. "I swear, if you touch her—"

"Oh, let's get past the chit chat. You can tell those cops in your apartment not to bother tracing the call. They really think I'm that stupid?"

Tears flood his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" The voice tisks and then chuckles, sending chills up and down Freddie's spine. "That's your job, Freddie. You're smart."

He squeezes the arm of his chair, and begs, "Please, don't hurt her."

The voice laughs again. "Take a look at the clock, Freddie."

He gets a glimpse of the clock just as it hits 5:32 PM. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a detective shrug hopelessly at Mustache Man, shaking his head. "No trace," he mouths.

"You have twenty-three hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

'**Hour Two' will come either before or after the first epilogue of 'Exit Wounds'. Which would you like to come first?**

**A huge thanks to 'Kezziexx', 'invincible-soul', 'irishfan62', 'TnxDan', 'Guest', 'seddieforever16', 'Guest', 'RebelGirl13', 'cool story', and 'Jeremy Shane'. This story's first reviewers! A sense of pride should reign among you all.**

'**Guest' #1 – thank you so much!**

'**Guest' #2 – thanks for the awesome review!**

'**cool story' – haha thank you!**


	3. Chapter Two: Hour Two

**I present the next chapter. PLEASE REVIEW to let me know how I'm doing!**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Hour Two**

* * *

5:33 PM

Freddie sits in a daze as the cop-infested living room roars with activity; the shaky theories, morbid predictions, and hopeless guesses aren't things he wants to hear. He is so out of it that when his cell phone rings again, it takes Mustache Man shaking him for a few seconds to bring him to awareness.

"We ready?" The tech team nods and puts headphones to their ears, and Mustache Man nods at Freddie. _Thump-thump._

"Hello?" _Thump-thump_.

"Hey, Freddie! How's Seattle without me?"

His heart plummets, and he can't speak.

"Freddie? Hello?"

"Um, hi Carly," he chokes out.

"So what goes on?" He can't talk again. "Hello? Is the connection bad or something? Maybe if I go to the window—"

"Sam's gone," he blurts out suddenly. His vision gets blurry.

"Huh? Where'd she go?" She says something like "I'll be there in a minute, Spencer" and then returns her lips to the mouthpiece. "I thought she was staying to keep you and Gibby company while Spencer and I—"

"S-she did." Freddie feels the eyes of all the cops in his apartment boring into him. "She was taken."

He hears the alarm creep its way into her voice. "Taken? What do you mean?" Denial: the best stage of grief.

Freddie explodes. "We were walking home from the movie and this person attacked us and he took her and I don't know what to do because I couldn't even see the face or tell whether it was a man or woman or anything and I didn't even see the license plate and I couldn't protect her and I was so useless and I just can't…" he runs out of breath and breaks down in sobs. He feels his mother wrap her arms around him, providing no comfort.

"Oh my God…" Carly breathes. Freddie hears Spencer's voice ask Carly something. "Sam…" he hears her burst into tears and the line suddenly disconnects.

Freddie slams the phone on the table in front of him and screams. He screams and pounds his fists on whatever surface they find until his energy momentarily gives out.

He can still hear Sam's screaming.

* * *

_He took out my punching arm!_ she thinks to herself. That's her main route of defense, other than the butter sock. How she wishes for it now.

The pain never leaves, but somehow she manages to think clearly and brainstorm ways to escape.

_Okay, he…she…it…opens the door and I hit it with…with…with _what?

Maybe not that then.

_It opens the door and I use my good leg to…kick? How can I kick at something I can't see? It's too dark!_

Her frustration reminds her of her elbow, and the searing pain comes back at a new level. She wants to touch it to try to comfort herself, but she's tried that before and has vowed never to touch her right arm again. She's not about to pass out another time.

Footsteps. Her jaw sets and her left hand curls into a fist. She braces herself for the light. She should be used to that level of brightness now.

But her captor has prepared for that.

The knob turns, and before Sam can react, the figure shines a blinding light in her eyes. She cries out and sees spots. She has to close her eyes, but the spots are still there. The door closes, and the light from outside and the new light both go out. She can't see a thing except those stupid spots.

She senses the figure come closer. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" she shrieks. Hot breaths descend on her cheeks. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

A hard heel lands softly but firmly on her good knee.

She freezes. "No, please…"

Bare fingers caress her cheek, running from the top of her ear to her chin. She trembles, knowing that she's touching the person that may be the last one to see her alive. The fingers are steady and calculating, knowing very well the effect that they're having on her. They're cold and big and disgusting, and at the last moment Sam decides to take a chance. She lashes out with her mouth and aims for where she thinks the hand is now. She bites down hard, but on her own teeth. Something cracks. She yells out in pain and regret, because now the captor knows what she just tried to do.

Both hands now take hold of her ankle and make a sudden twist. Sam pounds the floor with her left hand, screaming as if someone can hear her. A few seconds pass, the heel still resting on her knee. And then, it comes off.

And then it's crushing her thigh.

It's digging and rotating and hammering into her muscles, and when she thrashes around, her newly injured ankle cracks against the floor and her mangled arm accidentally hits her in the side and she can't breathe. She has to let this demon do what it wants.

It's done. The heel releases her, letting her sob and yell in agony. Sam feels the figure's hot breath in her face again and pleads, "Please, just kill me." But like before, it doesn't listen. The light explodes into the room and the door slams shut.

As she screams, she can hear Freddie yelling her name back on that street, and their two voices blend together as she begs the darkness for mercy.

* * *

Carly's caller-ID pops up, and with a shudder, Freddie answers the phone once more. "Hi."

"Spencer and I booked the next flight back to Seattle but it's tomorrow afternoon and it takes a few hours to get there from Hawaii. Have you heard anything yet? Is she okay?"

"I don't know."

He can hear her crying. "She's going to be okay, though. Right?"

"23 hours," he lets out. "I have 23 hours."

She sniffles. "What?"

"The person who took her said I have 23 more hours to get her back." And less now…

"Huh? Why?"

"I don't know!" he explodes. "This guy's a psychopath!" She starts crying again. "Carly…Carly, I'm sorry. I'm just…it's just…"

"It's okay. I get it," she sighs after a second. She clears her throat. "Just get her back."

The line goes dead.

"I plan to."

* * *

Footsteps. The door opens, the light blinds, and the door closes. She hears a faint click.

"I'm done, okay?" Sam yells. "You win! Just kill me, please!" The steps come closer. A boot nudges her disfigured arm. She screams bloody murder. "STOP! JUST KILL ME! I'M DONE! WHAT MORE COULD YOU POSSIBLY DO TO ME? KILL ME, _PLEASE!_"

She hears another click. Footsteps, door opens, light, door closes. She keeps screaming until her voice gets hoarse.

She imagines Carly's face, and tears stream down her own face. Spencer, Gibby, Guppy, her mother…

Freddie.

_I want to die, but I don't._

* * *

"Pick it up, Freddie."

And suddenly Mustache Man is nudging Freddie to awareness. He glances at the screen of his ringing phone. Unknown Caller. "Get ready for the trace," the detective announces to his team.

Freddie's vision turns into a shade of red. He slams his finger onto the speaker button and screams into the phone.

"Listen to me, you—!"

_Click_.

"I'm done, okay? You win!"

His heart stops.

Sam?

_SAM!_

"Sam! Sam, are you—"

"Just kill me, please!"

A chill goes down his spine. "Sam, what's going—"

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!" He drops the phone onto the table and smashes his hands over his ears, struggling to keep in tears.

"STOP! JUST KILL ME! I'M DONE! WHAT MORE COULD YOU POSSIBLY DO TO ME? KILL ME, _PLEASE!_"

_Click._

Freddie's chest heaves up and down, and he hears steady breathing on the line. His teeth grind together.

"I'm going to _kill_ you, you son of a–"

"Whoa now, Freddie. We better watch our language. Your mother's in the room, isn't she?"

He lets out a strangled yell. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do it! Anything! Don't touch her!"

A chuckle. "A little late for that now. I've told you what I want. Be smart. She's right under your nose."

"Let her GO!"

Another slow laugh. "Look at those three numbers on your phone, Freddie."

He does. 6:32 PM.

"You have twenty-two hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**REVIEW…tell me what you liked or didn't…or what you want to see…anything! Thanks to 'Kezziexx', 'invincible-soul', 'hejk12345', 'CrazyGeek', 'TnxDan', 'RebelGirl13', 'addictedtochocolates', and 'irishfan62'.**

**I replied to all of you guys…didn't I? If I didn't, you have the right to type-shriek at me and remind me to. 'Hour Three' soon, promise. The past couple months have been AWFUL…you have no idea. Sorry.**


	4. Chapter Three: Hour Three

**As I promised many of you that reviewed, here's the next hour…a week later! I feel so accomplished. Hopefully I've written to all of your standards. This is a relatively long chapter to make up for my terrible timing with updating :/ forgive meh?**

**Chapter Three: Hour Three**

* * *

6:33 PM.

"We have to do something!" Freddie pleads as he paces the few feet between the couch and the coffee table in the living room. Mustache Man starts getting dizzy as he watches the distraught teenager stride back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

"We can't just keep sitting here waiting for that demon to call! We need to let people know so that they can look for her! We need to call people! Get CIA down here! We can—"

"Freddie, slow down," Mustache Man interrupts. "I've tried to get a hold of Sam's mother, but it seems she's in some jail in Houston for disturbing the peace."

"Of course," Freddie grumbles.

"I've left a message for Sam's sister but she hasn't called back yet."

Freddie has a puzzled look. "Is her name Melanie?"

"Yes…why?"

Huh. So she _is_ real after all.

But that's not important.

"Nothing. Have you even called the CIA so they can do what you guys seem not to be able to do?"

Eyebrows rise. "Freddie, we can't call in the CIA for this."

Another detective folds his arms across his chest. "Yeah, they take on national security emergencies."

Freddie shoots daggers at him. The man looks away. "Well we aren't accomplishing anything by just sitting here!"

"Where should we go then, Freddie?"

He looks at Mustache Man with red eyes, flushed cheeks, and disheveled hair. His mouth opens and closes multiple times, but no sound comes out.

The detective sighs. "I'm sorry."

Freddie's on the verge of tears. "There has to be _something_ we can do! Can you try tracing the call again? Figuring out the number? _Anything_?"

"We've tried multiple times."

Freddie punches at the wall. "Then what are you guys doing here? You aren't helping! DO SOMETHING!" He sinks to the floor and begins crying. He shoves away his mother who attempts to comfort him even though he knows that she's hurting too.

"You have to do _something_…"

* * *

Sam waits for over half an hour, but no more footsteps come. She contemplates knocking herself out by smashing her head against the ground to end the pain in…everywhere…but she decides against it. She needs to remain conscious to try and survive this.

She suddenly feels so alone. Sam longs for human touch…well, maybe she doesn't want anyone to touch her at the moment, but she wants to see someone she loves. She needs to hear their voice, see their face, feel their warmth.

She needs to hear his voice, see his face, feel his warmth.

She wonders if she'll ever see him again. She imagines what it would've been like if he'd actually had the chance to carry her, at least for a little while, before the attack. To be scooped up and wrapped in his arms, to be held by the nerd who wasn't really a nerd anymore.

She feels tears.

_No, stop. _She chastises herself, becoming embarrassed by her thoughts. _Prepare yourself that you'll never see him or anyone else again, because that's what it looks like. _

But how can she make peace with herself with all this stupid pain?

* * *

A number that Freddie doesn't recognize flashes across the screen of his Pear Phone when it rings. He picks it up before he gets the okay from Mustache Man.

"H-hello?"

"Freddie?" an annoyingly high-pitched voice asks. "It's Melanie, Sam's sister."

He doesn't respond.

"Look…I, um…I got this weird message on my phone and…I…"

"I know." He sniffles before he can stop himself.

"What's going on?" The alarm in her voice starts. "The guy barely said anything, and—"

"Sam was abducted," he blurts. "We haven't found her yet."

Silence. Then, "Oh my God…oh my _God_…!" He can hear her crying.

He lets a minute go by. She composes herself and clears her throat. "Okay, it'll take at least a couple of days by bus, but I'll see what I can do to get to Seattle as soon as possible."

"Okay."

She hangs up.

* * *

She's waiting for so long that she starts feeling a random sense of safety, which scares her. A _lot_. She can't feel safe here. _Ever._ Who knows what's planned for her next.

But God, she just longs for that human contact, even though it's only been, what, a few hours? But how much longer will she be stuck here? Days? Weeks? Months?

Years?

When is this sick monster going to tell her what it wants?

Sam takes a quick inventory of her injuries so far. _Alright…right arm equals destroyed_, she thought bitterly, grimacing through the searing pain. _Left knee gone…right ankle gone…right thigh pretty much gone…_

_Cheese_. She balances her dead weight on her shaky left hand, sprawled out on the concrete floor. _How am I supposed to move my entire body with just my left arm?_

She almost passes out from the agony that attacks her when she succeeds by an inch or two. She gets really scared, even though she pointlessly tells herself that Puckett's don't get scared.

_How am I supposed to get away if I get a random opportunity?_

No, she will just have to rely on the nonexistent mercy of her abductor.

She's so distraught that she doesn't hear the footsteps until it's too late. The light is even more blinding than before.

Sam tries to scoot away, but her stubborn body barely budges. She shelters her left arm desperately behind her back.

"Don't…you don't want to do this. Trust me, you—"

Something sharp slices across her skin, just below her right eye.

She doesn't even remember the beast leaving. She's too busy screaming and crying, and screaming even harder when the salt in her tears interacts with the cut on her face. Her eye is already swelling shut.

* * *

It's 7:30 PM. Mrs. Benson has brought coffee to all the police and detectives and whoever else is there. She's placed an entire tray full of food for dinner in front of Freddie, but he's barely even looked at it. He sometimes forgets that it's even there.

The phone rings.

* * *

Sam hasn't even had time to recover before the figure comes back. Footsteps. Light. Darkness.

"STOP! DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT—"

A cold, jagged blade lands on her neck.

She freezes. "Oh God…please…don't…" she starts sobbing, trying to shrink away from the weapon. She shrinks right into the figure's body crouched behind her.

Sam lets out a shriek and breaks down all over again. After a moment, something bumpy and cold is pressed against her ear. The distorted voice almost makes her jump into the blade held against her throat.

"You have sixty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

* * *

Freddie presses the green Answer option and the speaker button. He unknowingly holds his breath.

"You have sixty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

His heart drops. _No…please…not this—_

"H-hello?"

His brain short-circuits. The three letters of her name scramble in his head, twisting around the nerves and neurons that he's learned so much about.

"Hello?" This time softer.

"Sam! Sam, can you hear me?" he yells, the people surrounding him scrambling around to try and get a location on the call.

"_Freddie_? Oh my God, Freddie!" she almost cries, but forces herself to stop before it starts. She can't let him know what's happening to her. She's okay. She's fine.

"I'm fine."

The blade presses into her delicate skin, breaking it just a little, but enough to hurt like hell. She screams.

"SAM! Sam, talk to me!"

Freddie hears her gasping for air and grunting, struggling to compose herself. "H-hi. I'm sorry Freddie…"

His hands cradle the phone against his chest, as if that somehow brings her closer to him. "Don't. This isn't your fault."

"Does Carly know?" she asks in a small voice.

Freddie swallows. "Yeah. So do your mother and Melanie. They're coming. We'll all be right here when you get out." He winces at his own lie.

"Tell them I'm—" Sam almost finishes with "okay," but she feels the figure's arm that's holding the blade tense up. A tear falls from her eye. "Tell them I love them," she says instead.

"You can tell them yourself when—"

"Please. Please just do it," Sam pleads. She's faced the fact that she may not make it.

Freddie is silent for a few seconds. He remembers the voice's time limit and kicks himself. "I will. You have nothing to worry about." He's refused to believe that Sam might very well die, but now it suddenly hits him like a flatbed truck. He needs to tell her. Now.

"Sam, I—"

"Time's up," the distorted voice cuts in. Freddie hears her screaming in the background. "No! Give it back! I need more time!" A door slams, but he can still make out the sound of her shrieks.

"Well that was boring, wasn't it?" The voice continues with a demented-sounding sigh. "All those stupid pleasantries were making me sick."

Freddie's grip on the phone tightens as one of the tech guys waves Mustache Man over. He glances at the tech's computer screen and nods rapidly. "Keep talking," he mouths at Freddie, gesturing in circles with his hand.

"Please just tell me what you want. You know that I'll do whatever it is that—"

"You know she was right about one thing. She does need more time. But, unfortunately, she can't have any. You, Freddie, are the one that has complete control over what happens to her and how much time it takes."

"THEN TELL ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" he screeches into the phone.

"Yikes, Freddie. You really hurt my ear. And my feelings. I'm surprised that you don't know by now what this is about."

"Enlighten me, then," Freddie growls in response.

The voice tisks. "Ah-ah-ah! All in due time, Freddie. All in due time. Speaking of which…"

Freddie squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, he sees those three numbers.

7:32 PM.

The tech guy becomes bewildered as the voice analysis he's sure he's done right results in high-pitched chipmunk-like speech in his ear. Instead of a normal voice that would reveal a hint to the captor's identity, they've come up with nothing. Again.

The voice on the phone laughs, as if somehow knowing their failure.

"You have twenty-one hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**REVIEW! OH FOR THE LOVE OF CHEESE, PLEASE REVIEW! They encourage me to work faster. I really hope you enjoyed Hour Three, and be on the lookout for 'Hour Four'…perhaps coming next week? What do you guys think? Up to you!**

**Thank you 'GoingNuts', 'Kezziexx', 'irishfan62', 'RebelGirl13', 'Akarandomfang', 'Dollyrocks101', 'akg.517', 'hejk12345', and 'addictedtochocolates'. You guys are my heroes for reviewing last chapter. Be sure to add that to your list of life accomplishments :)**

'**Akarandomfang' – thank you so much! So glad to have a reader like you…your stuff is amazing too!**

'**Dollyrocks101' – thanks! Yeah, that movie was pretty awesome. Except that captor's voice was already creepy…it didn't need a voice-morpher-thingy…hahaha.**


	5. Chapter Four: Hour Four

**I'm really sorry this took me a little longer than last time. iGoodbye was…just…sigh. Not what I was hoping I guess. And not just because of the Carly/Freddie business. It's just that…NONE of the recent episodes supported ANYTHING that happened in the finale. **

**Whatever.**

**Chapter Four: Hour Four**

* * *

7:33 PM

He just sits there; unmoving, mute, and numb. Her scream keeps echoing in his skull.

Mustache Man suddenly jumps to life. "Alright, so we know that this guy is obsessed with time. Maybe it has something to do with where he's keeping Samantha."

"Sam," Freddie blurts out of instinct, still numb.

Mustache Man sighs heavily, most likely frustrated. "Alright, _Sam_." He walks to the other side of the room and starts pacing, gesturing as he projects his thoughts out loud. "So maybe he's telling Freddie to look near…what? Something related to time? To a countdown?"

"Like where they drop the ball on New Years?" one police officer contributes.

Mustache Man looks doubtful. "Maybe. We need to look for an area that's deserted or abandoned, someplace he can...uh—keep her. Research Seattle landmarks, people."

Then comes a chorus of "On it, boss" and "Yes sir." It's enough to make Freddie scream.

"Freddie?" Mustache Man is now suddenly standing over him. "You have to stay focused."

He rubs his eyes and lets out a shaky breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "Okay."

"This guy seems to think that he has something against you, that you wronged him in the past. Or maybe Sam did and he's taking it out on both of you. Whatever the case, think of anything you can or anyone with a reason to hold a grudge." He sits on the couch next to Freddie. "Maybe start with things you did on the webshow."

He gives Mustache Man an incredulous look. "Hundreds of thousands of people have watched us online! That narrows the suspect list down to what—half the country?"

"Freddie, something's better than nothing."

He runs his hands through his hair and pulls. Hard. He knows what Mustache Man is unwilling to admit: they have absolutely nothing.

"Um, there's this Nevel kid that hated us, but then we sort of became friends and helped him out, but now I'm not really sure where we stand. We haven't talked to him recently."

"How old is this 'Nevel kid'?"

"Um, fourteen? Fifteen?"

Mustache Man looks disappointed. "Alright, who else?"

"Uh, we've done some stuff to some teachers. Ms. Briggs and Mr. Howard, namely. At Ridgeway High."

The detective writes something down. "Okay, keep going."

"The doorman of this building, Lewbert. We once put this explosive-like thing in his muffin basket."

Mustache Man gives him a look.

"Don't ask."

He rolls his eyes and writes something else on the pad of paper in his hands. "Okay..."

"This Norah Dershlit girl kidnapped us twice, but I think she and her parents are in jail."

"Uh-huh." More scribbles.

Freddie wants to cry. So many enemies with reasons to hurt Sam. She's a good person, no matter what people think of her. Those who actually know her would see that.

"Freddie?"

He snaps out of it.

"This crazy chick Mandy Valdez. But she's not really vicious…just…mentally, uh, unstable."

"Alright…"

He gets mad. "I know this all sounds stupid, but it's the truth."

Mustache Man puts his hands up in a surrender position. "I didn't say anything. We're getting a suspect list, and that's all that matters. Anyone else?"

Freddie thinks for a moment. "All I can think of right now is Missy Robinson, Carly's old best friend."

The hand scribbles again.

"But most of these people are so young! I feel like this is all pointless!"

The detective gives Freddie a forced smile. "There are always accomplices, and Norah's pretty young and you saw what she could do."

Freddie closes his eyes. "Yeah."

Mustache Man turns to his team. "How are we doing on those landmarks, people?"

"We have churches sir, with clocks. Sixth Church of Christ Scientist, Mount Baker Presbyterian Church, Fort Lawton Chapel—"

The man scoffs. "There have to be hundreds of churches in Seattle with clocks. We could be here all night. Next."

"Sir, there's Times Square Building. It used to be Times Building and—"

"It's too crowded around there. Someone would have noticed them," Mustache Man interrupted. "Next."

The team fell silent.

"Come on, people! Let's go! Try street clocks or clock towers in the area."

Freddie panics as a sudden thought crosses his mind. "What if they're not even in Seattle anymore? What if they're not even in Washington? What if they took a boat—"

"Calm down, Freddie." He wants to scream at the stupid man with that stupid mustache. "He, she, whatever—contacted you about an hour after he took Saman—Sam. They couldn't have gotten that far. And so far it's almost as if he _wants_ you to figure out where they're at."

Freddie's heart bangs around in his chest. "So, what, he's playing some sort of _game_ with me? This guy is _SICK_! I'm going to rip out his intestines and feed them to animals! I'm going to—"

"Stop. Focus."

Freddie huffs.

Mustache Man turns to his team again. "Any luck?"

A nervous guy who looks like he should be in high school speaks up. "We've got a list of street clocks in Seattle. Ben Bridge Jewelers Street Clock, Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Co. Street Clock, Carroll's Jewelers Street Clock, West Earth Co. Street Clock, Benton's Jewelers Street Clock, Greenwood Jewelers Street Clock, Jim Ryan Clock—"

The detective abruptly perks up. "Wait, what was that one? Ben…"

"Uh, Benton's Jewelers Street Clock?"

A chill slithers down Freddie's back. He looks at Mustache Man and sees that they're both on the same page. "That's my last name except for one letter."

"Give me more on the Benton Clock."

The sound of typing on keys. "Next to Benton's Jewelers. It was built in 1911 and reached landmark status in 1980."

"What about the jewelry store?"

More clicking. More typing. The guy sat back, startled. "The store closed down two months ago."

Freddie's heart beats faster.

"What's there now?"

The team member looks at Mustache Man. "Nothing. It's abandoned."

The detective stands up. "Alright, there's too many coincidences here to be just chance. Call in a police team to crash this joint." He straps on a bulletproof vest and secures his gun in his holster. Freddie gets up.

"Whoa, what do you think you're doing?" Mustache Man pokes his finger at Freddie's chest.

He slaps the stubby finger away. "I'm going."

His mother goes absolutely ballistic. "Absolutely NOT, Fredward! I am not having you go on some manhunt with guns and weapons and pointy objects! You could be hurt, not to mention _killed_!"

Freddie maintains steady eye contact with her. "Mom, I'm going. This is _Sam_."

"No!"

He turns to the man with the stupid mustache. "Please? I won't get out of the car. I just need to see her if she's there…I—I need to be there…with her…" a tear slides down his face. Then another.

The man sighs. "Mrs. Benson, I understand your concern, but I can assure you that Freddie will not be harmed. He'll stay in—"

"_NO!_"

Freddie grabs his mother's shoulders. "Mom, you've always taught me to stand up for what's right and to fight for what I need. Well, what I need right now is Sam. _Please_. I _need_ to fight for her."

She just collapses on the ground, sobbing.

Freddie turns to Mustache Man. "That's a yes. Let's go."

* * *

The figure hasn't been back for some time now. The visits are already becoming less frequent. She wonders if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Sam's stomach roars, declaring its anger. It's past dinner. Why was she so stubborn at the movie theater that afternoon? Why couldn't she have just accepted Freddie's offer to share his popcorn? Why of all days had she skipped lunch _today_?

She knows the reason.

She hears the footsteps. Her jaw trembles and her left arm, her only functioning limb, now feels weak and useless.

The door opens and closes in less than a second. She feels the figure coming closer and decides to take the offensive.

"I want to talk to Freddie again. _Now_."

Bad idea.

Before she can even flinch, something hard and cold smashes her left hand. Sam screams and cries as she realizes that she can't move at all anymore to protect herself. She now has to rely on whoever's looking for her. She can't deal with the fact that she has no way of preventing more torture.

The weapon crushes her left shoulder next. The pain is indescribable.

When the figure leaves, Sam can only lay on the floor, writhing in agony, as her right eye swells shut completely from the cut inflicted minutes before.

* * *

In a daze, Freddie watches Mustache Man and a team of police armed with guns, vests, and helmets break down the door of the abandoned jewelry store and disappear inside. He hears many voices shout "Clear!"

A few minutes later, Mustache Man returns to the squad car that Freddie is anxiously waiting in. "I'm sorry, kid."

* * *

Mrs. Benson practically attacks her son as soon as they return, capturing him with a bear hug. He lets her until he gets a look at the clock on the wall. His heart drops and his phone rings.

He stumbles over to his phone on the table in the living room and presses the Speaker button.

"Hello?"

"Well done, Freddie!" The voice chuckles a little. "I'm very impressed. You've proven to yourself that you _can_ find her if you just listen to me."

His arms are covered with goosebumps. "Wait, the Benton's Street Clock—"

"A test. You _are _smart. Sometimes it just takes a little push to get that motor in your brain working."

"Let me talk to Sam," he demands.

"Hang on now. Just because I was nice last time doesn't mean I'll do you favors every time we speak. Don't get selfish, Freddie."

"You haven't done me ANY favors, you—"

The voice sighs. "You know we could do this all night, but I've got work to do."

Tears flood Freddie's eyes as the voice says, "Have you seen the clock recently?"

8:32 PM.

He knows what's coming.

"You have twenty hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Okay, this chapter took a **_**lot**_** of research to write, with all the Seattle landmarks and stuff. These are actually real places, except Benton's Jewelers isn't abandoned anymore…but let's just pretend. So PLEASE REVIEW. I took a lot of time to write this, and the more reviews I get, the more motivated I am to write Hour Five after the first round of finals this week. It's a WIN-WIN IF YOU REVIEW!**

**THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH to 'TnxDan' (x2), 'TheRockAngel', 'Kezziexx', 'Dollyrocks101', 'hejk12345', 'Guest', 'irishfan62', 'Typicalsteph', 'Guest', 'akarandomfang', 'johnp1299', and 'GoingNuts' for reviewing. It means everything.**

'**Dollyrocks101' – yeah, I agree; I need to step it up. I hope to post Hour Five soon! Thanks!**

'**Guest' [#1] – thank you so much!**

'**Typicalsteph' – thank you!**

'**Guest' [#2] – will do! Thanks!**


	6. Chapter Five: Hour Five

**Just one more week until I get to go home. FINALLY.**

**And Jade&Beck are back! Life = complete.**

**Chapter Five: Hour Five**

* * *

8:33 PM

The tears leave his eyes by running down his face. He screams out of frustration and punches the table. Everyone else is silent.

Freddie feels that rage race through his veins and build up inside his chest. He grabs his cell phone and presses redial. How has he not though of that before?

It doesn't even ring.

"_We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again." _

He yells again, making his mother wince from across the room. "How is he doing this? We need to do something!"

"We're doing everything we can—" Mustache Man begins.

"Well it's not enough!"

The Pear Phone suddenly starts ringing, making everyone flinch. Freddie just looks at it for a few seconds before pressing answer.

"Hello?"

"Freddie! Have you heard anything yet? Is she okay?"

He chews off some skin on the inside of his mouth. "Nothing useful. Sorry, Carly."

He heard a hiccup on the other line. "Is. She. _Okay_," she asked more forcefully.

"I don't know."

Freddie hears her crying again, and he wonders why he didn't just say yes.

"We're going to get her back, I promise."

Sniffling. "Don't make a promise you can't keep, Freddie." His heart drops. "Sorry," she says after a moment. "Our flight is at 1:20 tomorrow, so we land at a little after seven."

He almost tells her that it isn't fast enough and that it'll all be over before then, but bites it back at the last second. "Okay. See you tomorrow night."

"Bye."

"Oh, Carly?"

"Yeah?"

He can't risk the interference. "Don't call me around twenty after the hour for a while, okay? Long story, no time to explain," he lies.

"Uh, okay. Bye."

He swallows. "Bye."

* * *

What all of those thriller movies and suspense novels don't let you in on is that, yes, human beings _do_ have to pee after a few hours. Just one of those biological processes that screws up your routine, simply because it can.

Sam hasn't gone to the bathroom in over six hours, and along with that smoothie she had earlier in the day, her bladder is about to murder her. She can't move her legs to cross them and somehow ease the stress, so the discomfort is agonizing. After a few minutes, she can't take it anymore.

"I need to pee! Let me OUT!"

She expects the footsteps to come, but to her relief and disappointment they don't.

"Did you hear me? I gotta go! NOW! This is not a drill!"

Silence, except for the growl of her empty stomach.

"Hey! I'm hungry! You're not going to get that money or whatever you're after if I'm dead, smart one!"

Nothing. Did it leave?

The tightness in her throat and the dryness in her mouth alert her to another unfortunate fact. "I need water! I'm thirsty, you jerk!"

The door explodes open almost immediately, nearly breaking against the wall with the force. The figure is instantly upon her, its massive hand yanking her hair and shoving her head into some bucket full of liquid, but not exactly water.

Sam realizes from the violence of her captor that this might be it. He's going to drown her in a freaking _bucket_, and she can't move or do anything about it.

Her good eye is initially wide open, but she squeezes it shut as the liquid stings it and makes the gashes on her face scream their own murder. She tries to yell and shake free of the figure's grip, but nothing happens. She feels the bubbles from her scream race past her face through the liquid and shatter at the surface, somewhere just above her ears. Sam feels that dread slowly ooze throughout her body as liquid goes down the wrong pipe and enters her lungs. She's coughing. She's dying.

And just before it truly ends for her, the roots of her hair tear her face out of the bucket and slam it against the floor. Her coughing heaves her body so violently that Sam expects to throw up. She feels a patch of her hair rip out of her head when the figure stops the drowning, but this pain cannot even begin to compare with what she feels when a boot steps on her mangled elbow as it walks out of the room.

She mercifully blacks out.

* * *

He can't stand being at the mercy of some deranged sadistic devil. He hates the inactivity that always seems to be the police's main tactic. The slightest thing sets him off. When Mrs. Benson puts a hand on his shoulder, he screams at her and jumps off the couch. He tries to apologize, but nothing comes out. Freddie watches his mother walk out of the room in tears.

"What do you guys plan on doing now? Sitting here?" he spits at Mustache Man.

"I think you need to calm down."

His eyes practically fall out of their sockets. "Calm down? Calm _down_? Are you KIDDING me? She's being tortured and you're not doing _anything_ about it and you tell me to _calm down_?"

"We're doing everything we can." Before Freddie can object, he's interrupted. "Look, we could argue about this for the next twenty hours, but that's not going to help your friend."

Freddie scoffs. _Friend_. The term seems almost derogatory.

"Now the guy says that we just need to listen to him in order to find Sam. So what has he said to you this time?"

The detective plays back the recording and scribbles down a few phrases. Freddie just sits back on the couch and plugs his ears with his fingers, not wanting to hear the voice any more than he has to.

When Mustache Man is done, he shows his small list to him. "Anything remind you of anything?"

_Motor in your brain_

_Don't get selfish_

_We could do this all night_

_I've got work to do_

Freddie spends minutes battling his brain to come up with something, _anything_. He feels like he's failing her. She doesn't deserve this. This is all his fault.

His voice cracks. "No. Nothing."

"Don't worry about it," the detective says, seeing Freddie's agony. "It's possible that this guy didn't leave us anything to work with this time just to stall. Maybe the one thing he wants you to take away from this is to just listen to his every word."

The rage boils up inside him again. "If he's not going to tell me anything now, what makes you think he'll say something useful in the future?"

"He thinks of this like a game. It's not fun for him unless you at least have a chance and challenge him."

Freddie just buries his face in his hands.

Mustache Man reluctantly adds, "I want to be honest with you, son. He's obsessed with this countdown. It's also possible that he won't tell you anything until the last call so that he can complete this fantasy."

He can't seem to breathe but manages to bitterly but truthfully respond. "Thanks for being honest."

* * *

Sam wakes up only twenty-five minutes later. The few moments of peace are gone.

So much pain. Whoever said that emotional pain is worse than any physical pain should be sued. Sam promises herself if she gets out of this nightmare, she'll find the stupid guy and buttersock him to the hospital.

She feels as though she's giving birth. The sharp pangs her bladder is emitting are unbearable. Tears form into her eyes when she bursts through her bubble brain. Along with the end in denial come deep, gut wrenching sobs. The humiliation is more than she can take.

Her legs get hot and sticky.

* * *

The figure looks at the surveillance video and smiles. The moment has finally come.

The night-vision camera captures it perfectly. The liquid shadow spreading across the crotch of her pants, her crying, her inability to have control. It's addicting.

The figure tosses the hood of the sweatshirt up over the head. It's better that way.

Another box is opened, and another disposable phone is taken out. The numbers have been memorized months ago.

The fingers make the call.

* * *

"What do you _want_?" Freddie shrieks into the phone. He can't take this anymore. He just can't.

"You know, it's funny how amazing a toilet can seem when you really need one."

What on _earth_?

"What are you _talking_ about?"

"Your little friend. I don't think she'll ever take it for granted anymore."

His heart stopped. "I _hate_ you," he growled in a low tone. "Tell me what you want _now_. I'm tired of playing your stupid game!"

"Ah," the voice says. "So the police have analyzed my behavior, have they? Well, I can assure you that that really _is_ a waste of time. And time is of the essence here."

Freddie's hand shakes, and he's gripping the phone so hard that it's in danger of breaking. "Let me speak to Sam."

"I don't think she's in the best of moods right now. She might get snappy."

He tears at his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. "Why are you calling me if you aren't going to tell me anything useful?"

The voice makes a distorted laugh. "That's cute, Freddie. Really cute."

He swallows. "Why?"

"You actually believe them. You actually think that this is a game. Well, I can tell you that I am completely serious."

A tear slides down Freddie's face. "Look, I'm sorry for whatever I may have done to you in the past. Please let Sam go if it's me you want. She doesn't deserve this."

"I doubt it."

"Just tell me who you are and I won't press charges," Freddie lies. "All I care about is having Sam back, and then you can just tell me whatever you need from me to make you happy."

"I need nothing from you."

A chill goes down Freddie's spine.

"I've somewhat enjoyed this talk, Freddie. You're a very fascinating person. But I am very busy here, so I've gotta bounce. But you know what?"

9:32 PM.

He closes his eyes.

"You have nineteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**My new OTP is Penelope & Derek from Criminal Minds. GAHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!**

**Anyway. Please review, and I'll update again soon! I hope you all are doing fine with your final exams. We'll all suffer and get through this together.**

**I love 'TheRockAngel', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'i luv this story', nadene-seddiefan', 'Kezziexx', 'johnp1299', 'Iam-seddiewarrior', 'PinaySeddier', 'seddie perfection', 'Guest', 'akarandomfang', and 'Seddie is the new purple'. You light up my world like nobody else.**

**Heh.**

**Hour Six soon, but only if you motivate me. You know how :)**

'**i luv this story' – thank you so much! That would certainly be interesting, wouldn't it?**

'**Guest' – thank you so much! It really means a lot!**


	7. Chapter Six: Hour Six

**Thank you all for your support! Your guesses make me happy because it lets me think that I'm doing a good job at getting readers involved :) **

**Chapter Six: Hour Six**

* * *

9:33 PM

It burns. It's hot and itchy and nauseating. She feels the liquid and solid project from the back of her throat to behind her teeth. A tear falls from her eye as she swallows it before it comes out.

_Well I guess that's dinner,_ Sam thinks bitterly.

It itches so badly. It's like poison ivy and peeling sunburns and a swarm of mosquitos are going to town on her inner thighs all at once. She can't move to make it go away. She can't do anything. She's powerless.

Sam knows she has to at least try to do something. Letting the pain paralyze her isn't helping at all. _Okay, try the right arm first_.

She wiggles her fingers, twinges of pain traveling up and down her arm. Lifting her shoulder causes her elbow to drag on the floor, and she emits a silent scream. _Okay, right fingers_.

The left arm is the exact opposite. Using her hand or shoulder is out of the question. She might be able to move her elbow if she gets off the floor. _Okay, left elbow._

Right leg now. Thigh and ankle are pretty much gone. Moving her knee might work if she somehow stands up and gets the weight off that leg. But there are obvious problems with that. One, her left knee won't agree with the all-weight-on-the-left-leg idea. Two, both legs won't agree with the whole standing-up plan. _ Okay, so both legs are pretty much useless._

She moves her neck around a little bit. It hurts because of the skin breakage from the blade a couple hours ago, but it's not completely useless. _I still have that, whatever good it'll do._

What else? Her back? Her stomach?

This all seems so pointless.

_No, focus._

"Mushrooms or earthworms?" she remembers herself saying just that afternoon. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Sam finds herself managing a smile through all the pain. She can see his smirk, his eyes, his hair, his…everything.

"Earthworms."

They're more useful than just being pig food.

Time to wiggle.

Sam doesn't even know if she's going in the right direction, but she starts anyway. Her head digs into the floor, arches her back, and moves her body back an inch or so. She collapses against the floor, everything hurting and burning and stinging. Her inner thighs itch. Her head hurts. Her legs are devastated. Her arms demand murder. She can smell the urine now. Her eyes sting with tears. She has to get out of here.

_Don't think about it; just keep going._

It takes a dozen more inches before her skull hits the wall. She chooses to go left.

The wall is smooth for many more minutes. Suddenly, her head bumps over a hinge. She stops in disbelief. A door hinge? But how is she ever going to reach the handle?

* * *

Going over that phone call is worse than medieval torture.

"_You actually think that this is a game. Well, I can tell you that I am completely serious."_

Freddie hears himself beg pathetically, the voice say a few more words, and then himself again, making another desperate plea.

"_I need nothing from you. I've somewhat enjoyed this talk, Freddie. You're a very fascinating person. But I am very busy here, so I've gotta bounce. But you know what?"_

And then he relives another part of the countdown.

The tape stops. Mustache Man clears his throat and asks him, "Anything stick out to you?"

Freddie slowly shakes his head.

"Well what we do know is that these conversations are live, meaning this guy isn't making recordings and then playing them when he calls you. The responses are too sophisticated and related to your responses for that."

Freddie makes a half-hearted shrug. "So what?"

"If we get someone into custody and you still get a call from this guy, then whoever we have can't be the unsub. Or at least he can't be the guy who's making the calls, but he could still be connected to Sam's abduction."

"Okay…" Freddie repeats Mustache Man's words in his head and is confused. "Wait, what did you say? Un…sub?"

"Abbreviation for unknown subject."

"Oh."

After a moment, the detective suggests, "Want to go over the tape again?"

Does he want to? No. Does he have to? Yes.

"Okay."

So the conversation plays out again. Every word, every syllable. He can't take it.

When Freddie's about to tell Mustache Man to shut the stupid thing up, the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.

"Wait, rewind a few seconds back."

"…_fascinating person. But I am very busy here, so I've gotta bounce. But you know—"_

"Pause it!"

A random tech guy complies.

"He said 'I've gotta bounce.' _Bounce._ We Wedgie Bounced this kid Jonah a few years ago because he cheated on Sam."

"Wedgie…bounced?"

"Never mind that!" Freddie leaps off the couch. "It's Jonah. Jonah…uh…I forget his last name."

"Alright, did he go to high school with you guys?"

"Yeah! I think he was the same year as us."

Mustache Man nods at the tech guy, and an avalanche of computer keys being pressed shatters the air. Freddie loses touch with reality for a second, finding it hard to believe that this could be over in a matter of minutes. No more hours. No more countdowns.

When his mind wanders back to his living room, Mustache Man finishes writing down an address and runs out of the apartment, with Freddie and other men sprinting after him.

* * *

He answers the door and is immediately handcuffed. "Whoa, what did I do? Hey! Let go of me!"

Freddie gets out of a squad car and glares at that demon. The two of them make eye contact.

"Freddie? Are you still mad about the Sam-Carly thing? Dude, that was years ago! I'm sorry! Ow!" He yelps when his head hits the frame of another squad car as the police shove him into it.

A few minutes later, the invasion team emerges from the house empty-handed.

* * *

The fingers of her right hand are still wiggling desperately, not even a foot off the ground. This isn't going to work.

Sam hears the footsteps. She doesn't have time to get out of the way.

It's almost as if the figure knows she's behind the door. It opens swiftly but not uncontrollably. It slams against her head, wedging it between the wall and the door. The light doesn't come through the doorway this time. It's always pure darkness.

Sam cries out, feeling as if her skull is closing in on her brain. "STOP! STOP IT, PLEASE!"

A cold object is held against her cheek.

"You have fifty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

* * *

It's almost 10:30. It has to be Jonah. It'll be over when he tells the police where he's keeping Sam. It has to be.

His phone rings. So does something inside his chest.

"H-hello?"

_Please no_…

"You have fifty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

All of the information his brain is trying to process halts his response time. He hears her speak first.

"Freddie? Freddie, are you there?"

"Sam! How are you?" He grimaces at his terrible wording. "Um, I mean—"

"I know what you mean. I'm—" a boot rests gently on her throat. She's horrified, but she can't tell Freddie what's happening to her. "Good."

The boot presses down. Freddie hears gasps and gurgles and screams her name multiple times. Many precious moments are wasted.

The boot stops pressing on her neck and Sam regains her breath, coughing and sputtering. "I'm—I'm here."

"I promise I'll get you out of there. I _promise_." Freddie chokes up and stops.

"I know."

"I'm really sorry I didn't protect you at the very start; I would have but I was just so confused and disoriented and I couldn't see and—"

"Please, Freddie. It's fine. There's nothing you could have done."

He knows he should say it, but for some reason he can't. "I…I miss you."

She smiles sadly, breathing in the words she needs to hear. "I miss you too, you big nub."

Screw his stupid pride, fear, _whatever_ it was. "I...it's not just that, I—"

"Time's up."

The two of them scream at the voice and hear a door close. The voice patiently waits for him to stop.

"Speak, you moron," Freddie growls.

It laughs instead. "Well, the bright side is that you actually got the clue or whatever you call it from our last conversation. Not to say that there'll be one every time, but…you know. C'est la vie."

Jonah is in custody. This isn't real. It's a recording.

"What's my favorite color?" he blurts.

He hears the chuckling. "This isn't a recording, Freddie. We both know that your favorite color is useless to our conversation."

"So…so you just gave me a bogus clue?"

"Indeed."

Freddie yells in frustration. "How am I supposed to know whether to believe you or not? Doesn't that ruin the essence of your stupid little game?"

"As I've said before, this isn't a game. And this is your first lesson: you can't rely on anyone."

"Just let me talk to her again. _Please_."

"You know I _so_ would," the voice says sarcastically, "but you should know by now."

10:32 PM.

"NO!" he shouts, almost slamming the phone down on the table.

"You have eighteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**I hope some of you caught my Criminal Minds reference. Heh, I'm so lame :)**

**And I lied before. My OTP will always be Tony&Ziva. Can't get enough of 'em. But Penelope&Derek are beautiful too.**

**I hope to update ****FRIDAY**** since I go out of town on Saturday…but I may only be motivated by…you know what. Teehee.**

**[handing out lollipops to] 'TheRockAngel', 'Kezziexx', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Seddielover945', 'johnp1299', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'Iam-seddiewarrior', 'akg.517', 'GoingNuts', 'akarandomfang', 'JanthanSeddie Fanatic', 'hejk12345', and 'Saskia lloyd'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – thank you! (guesses and review) you'll find out in…I dunno…? :)**

'**Seddielover945' – thanks, you will!**

'**Saskia lloyd' – thanks s much! I hope this was fast enough for you **


	8. Chapter Seven: Hour Seven

**Yeah…I know that I said Friday, but I actually leave at 6 AM that day. I screwed up, but the bright side is that you get the chap a day early :)**

**REMINDER: On my profile there'll always be dates posted when I'm updating all my random stuff.**

**Chapter Seven: Hour Seven**

* * *

10:33 PM

Okay, time to get away from the door. Dig the back of her skull into the ground, push up and arch her back, scoot back an inch, collapse. Repeat. Many times.

After a few minutes, Sam has no idea where she's ended up. At least now she won't get a concussion from the door slamming into her head. Hopefully.

"I…I miss you," his voice echoes.

She lets it all out because she feels that she has a decent excuse to. Screaming and crying and cursing don't do the amount of pain she feels justice, but it has to suffice for now.

And when her brain bestows a demonic headache upon her, she reluctantly stops.

"God, Benson. I miss you too," she whispers.

* * *

They go through the tape three times. Nothing stands out this time. At all. Maybe the French saying signifies something, but Freddie doesn't have a clue. His "first lesson" makes no sense to him either.

"Aren't you guys going to question Jonah or something?"

Mustache Man shrugs. "Yeah, but I doubt he'll talk even if he knows anything, and I don't think he does. The unsub wouldn't blatantly lead us to a member of his own team."

Freddie is again reminded of the fact that this is a sick game when the detective says 'team.' He rubs his eyes and kicks himself for not just telling her before that stupid voice cut him off. "What are we going to do now?"

"There's not much we can do if there's no clue in this call. He's untraceable and we can't sort through whatever voice-morpher he's using."

Freddie reminds himself not to scream at all of them to do something because it's pointless. "So, what? We're going to just sit here and wait?"

"For now. We can keep reviewing what we know to see if there's any insight—"

"Can't we just start bringing people in?" Freddie interrupts. "If we get the people on that list I gave you of those that hate us into custody and the guy still calls, we can eliminate them! And if he doesn't call, then it _has_ to be one of them!"

"We can't just arrest random people, Freddie."

He raises his voice without realizing it. "Why the heck _not_?" he shouts.

"It's a basic constitutional right, son. The department would be sued left and right."

Freddie jumps up. "So _WHAT_? I think Sam's life is more important than your stupid paychecks!"

Mustache Man's reply is interrupted by the growl of Freddie's stomach.

"Fredward, please eat something," Mrs. Benson pleads. "Starving yourself isn't helping her."

His eyes flash. "I doubt this psycho is feeding her. If she can't eat, then neither will I."

The detective steps in. "She wouldn't want you to do that."

"How would you know that? You don't even _know_ her!" Freddie shrieks, even though he knows that he's being unreasonable. He starts crying.

The entire living room waits for Freddie to compose himself. Then Mustache Man says quietly, "We can't force you to do anything. Let's talk about the future calls this guy will make." Freddie nods. "If by chance he lets you talk to her again, stick to the facts. I may not know Sam, but I'm sure that she knows you care about her. So ask her what she sees, what she smells, hears, feels. Anything can help us to determine her location."

A moment passes. "Okay." _There will be plenty of other opportunities to tell her. He's not going to kill her. He just _can't_._

He looks up to see his mother offering him a granola bar. The look in her eyes fills him with even more guilt, so he takes it, puts it in his pocket, and excuses himself. He stumbles to his room, lightheaded and shaken, and slams the door behind him.

Now he can sob in peace and eat without anyone knowing.

With every bite, Freddie feels like he's betraying Sam even more than he has already.

* * *

It's time to bust this joint already.

_Alright, figure out where you are first_.

Her right fingers brush over the floor, causing knives to dig in and twist around her elbow and upper arm. It hurts, to say the very least, but she needs to get out of here.

Okay, the floor is hard. _Wow, great detective work, you idiot,_ Sam thinks to herself. She allows herself to let out a little laugh. _Okay, focus now._

The floor is not exactly smooth, but it's not totally rugged either. Just a normal floor.

Sam closes her eyes.

She sniffs the air, expecting to smell pine trees or something that would let her know she was in a forest or someplace. All she smells is the sweet scent of urine.

_Fantastic._

The disgusting smell reminds her of all the other pain throughout her body. She doesn't understand why this is happening. She knows she can be an awful person, but she's gotten better lately. Hasn't she? Does Freddie think so?

"I…it's not just that, I—"

Sam hopes he was about to say what she thinks he was about to say. She's devastated and glad that he didn't. She knows she feels the same way, but she can't stand to confirm what she suspects he feels and then lose it when this moron kills her. Another quote that's completely stupid is "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." She learned that from her father.

Screw these idiots who make money by spewing out such idiotic stuff.

Sam sighs.

_God, Freddie. I hate you._

* * *

Maybe he should just end all this right now and suffocate himself with a pillow.

It scares Freddie that he actually takes his sick joke seriously for a split second.

He can't. Sam's depending on him. She needs him. More importantly, he needs her.

If she doesn't make it after all of this…if something happens…

Freddie starts crying all over again just thinking about the prospect. She can't die. She just…can't. It's just not possible.

His phone rings. He forgot he even brought it with him.

"Hello?"

He's somewhat relieved to hear her voice.

"Freddie! Hey, it's me. Any news? I don't want to be annoying, but…"

"No, it's fine. I'm glad you called." Not a lie this time.

"Freddie, who are you on the phone with?" someone yells from the living room.

"It's not him!" he yells back.

"Huh?" Carly asks.

"Nothing," Freddie lies. There's no way he's telling her everything.

"You sound like you've been crying."

"I do?" He's not sure what else to say.

"Yeah. Well, considering the circumstances, I can't blame you. Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes he did.

"I just…I just can't. It's too much."

"Freddie, I…um…I know how you feel. About her, I mean."

What?

Time to test his lying skills again. "Huh? What are you talking about? I have absolutely _no_ idea—"

"Oh please," Carly replies. "You're the worst liar in the world."

She has a point there.

Freddie sighs. "Yeah, okay. I…I do."

"This isn't your fault. You know that, right?"

He shakes his head. "You weren't there, Carly. I was right _there_! I could have done something! She'd still be here if I wasn't such an idiot!" He chucks a pillow across the room and it thuds against the wall.

"Stop it. What matters is that you're doing everything now. I know this sounds bad, but I really think you should get some sleep."

Freddie scoffs. "No way in h—"

"Please?"

"No. Sleeping isn't going to get her back. One all-nighter isn't going to kill me."

He can practically see her raising her eyebrows. "Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? Like, for _real_?"

There were those lock-in overnighters at Ridgeway to complete those projects, but he'd always pass out at some point or another.

"No. So?"

Carly forces a pathetic laugh. "The first one is always the worst. You're always really disoriented and you can't think straight. And Sam needs you to have a clear head."

"Okay, fine. I'll think about it," he lies again.

She sighs, knowing better. "I'll be home soon, Freddie. If you get Sam back before I get there, can you…can you hug her for me?"

"Of course." He wipes his eyes. _Quit being a wuss, Benson,_ he can hear Sam say. God, he misses her.

They say their goodbyes.

* * *

It's time.

Freddie takes his phone with him to the living room. He knows that his eyes are red and his face is puffy but he doesn't care. He let's his mother hug him and then he sits down.

The phone almost immediately starts to ring.

Freddie presses the Answer button but decides not to speak.

There's complete silence on the line.

After many seconds pass, Freddie gives in. "Hello?" He tries to sound angry, but he's not sure how successful he is.

"Ah, there you are! I thought the connection was bad. Well, not really. But you've wasted a lot of our precious time, Freddie."

"I hate you _so_ much," he replies firmly but with a quivering voice.

"I got that, thanks. There may not be an opportunity for a clue this time."

He squeezes his eyes shut. "What do you have to say then?"

"Nothing, really. Except that you must be hungry. You should eat some dinner. I know your lady friend would like you to."

"Shut up," Freddie spits.

"You should eat for the both of you. I'm sure she's pretty hungry too."

"You…you…there are _no_ words to describe you!"

"Great comeback," the voice says sarcastically. "Well, I'm getting hungry too. Mmm, maybe some Chinese takeout. Nah, I'm in an Italian mood. What about you?"

"SHUT UP!" Freddie screams.

"Suit yourself. But I have one more thing to say."

11:32 PM

_Please just let this end…_

"You have seventeen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**You guys are so sweet: 'johnp1299', 'brutt98', 'Kezziexx', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'seddie perfection', 'ILuvThisStory', 'GoingNuts', 'Saskia lloyd', 'Guest', 'hejk12345', 'irishfan62', 'TheRockAngel', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'green aura', and 'Iam-seddiewarrior'. **

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'**Saskia lloyd' – thanks! Your reviews make **_**my**_** day!**

'**Guest' – I know…but thanks!**


	9. Chapter Eight: Hour Eight

**I'm reeeeally sorry I didn't update Saturday, but I had a health-related issue. At least I squeezed in an update before the year ended! Aaah, I feel so accomplished.**

**Chapter Eight: Hour Eight**

* * *

11:33 PM

Cockroaches are screeching and crawling in between her legs, biting and sucking and ripping her skin apart. At least that's what it feels like.

Sam allows herself to cry continuously but softly. She's too tired for deep sobbing or a complete breakdown. Is it already two in the morning? That's when she usually passes out for the day.

All she knows is that she's tired and hungry and in pain. So much pain.

Her crying hiccups into silence when the door flies open and the light blinds her. She is closer to the door than she thought she was.

The door bangs shut and the light disappears. The figure plays with a knife and tells her in that morphed voice, "Move and you die."

As if that was even an option?

The figure takes the knife and rips it into her shirt, tearing it in half. Before Sam has time to scream, she feels her stomach and shoulders being exposed to the frigid air.

"Stop it!" she pathetically yells.

The figure rips the shirt off of her, not caring how her injured arms are yanked in various directions. She screams.

The button on her pants comes undone and the zipper is ripped down. The figure grunts and struggles to yank them off. Each tug and pull is more painful that the last. Her legs shriek and Sam shrieks, sobbing so hard that she can barely breathe.

She doesn't know that her pants are off until the figure opens the door, tosses her clothing out, and slams the door back shut.

Is it still in here?

"Smile," the voice snarls.

_Smile?_

A flash of light blinds her momentarily; it's as if she's staring right at it when it goes off. She hears a couple of clicks in between her sobs.

Sam hears the voice laugh. The door opens, it leaves, and she's left alone in the dark. Completely exposed, with only her bra and soiled underwear protecting her. She's beyond humiliated. _This is what he wants_, she tells herself. _Don't let it get to you_.

But how can she not? She's so vulnerable that she actually feels her heart breaking.

Wait.

Smile?

Did he just take a picture?

Her rage boils over. "YOU'RE SICK! I'M GOING TO _KILL_ YOU!"

Sam's right elbow knocks against the floor when she unconsciously raises her arm as she screams, and the agony is so bad that she sees stars and white streaks in the air.

"DO YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE, HUH? YOU PERV!"

The surrounding walls cause her voice to echo. It's the only response she gets.

* * *

It only takes one review of the phone conversation for Freddie to catch the clue.

"Italian food." He desperately hopes that this is it. "Pini's. It's an Italian place that Sam, Carly, and I would go to. It was shut down almost a year ago because of a stupid health inspector."

Mustache Man rubs his mustache. "Did you meet anyone odd there? Someone who threated you or made you feel uncomfortable?"

He thinks. "I don't think so."

"Is Pini's nearby?"

"No, it's downtown. It takes about half an hour to get there."

"Well then we better get moving," Mustache Man announces, strapping on his bulletproof vest and reassuringly patting his gun. A few other guys do the same and exit the apartment.

"Fredward!" His mother's voice halts him at the door. He scowls as he turns around. _I really don't need this right now._

She's looking at the carpet, digging her toe in it and making a dent. "Just…be careful, okay?"

Freddie's surprised, but he doesn't respond. He can deal with his mother later. Right now, he's getting Sam back. Before twenty-four hours are up. Because he is _not_ letting this sick demon win or even come _close_ to it.

He slams the door behind him.

* * *

The squad car that Freddie's in screeches to a halt, and he flings open the door and leaps out before it's even at a full stop. Mustache Man sees him sprinting towards the door and almost tackles him to the ground as he grabs Freddie's shirt. "We have to secure the area first."

"Screw that!" Freddie shouts in his face. "Sam's in there; I know it!"

The detective turns to one of the cops. "Hey Brown, keep an eye on him for me."

"Sure thing, boss." Brown takes a firm hold of his arm. Freddie glares at both of them in the darkness lit up by some random streetlights.

Mustache Man runs toward the building and waits a few feet away as someone breaks down the door and officers flood inside. Freddie hears a series of "Clear!" 's and his heart sinks.

And then his heart receives a jolt of electricity.

"Uh, boss? You might want to come in here."

Freddie digs his heels into the ground and tries to wrestle his arm out of Brown's grasp. "Let me GO!"

Mustache Man gives Freddie a nervous glance and reluctantly asks an officer, "Is she in there?"

_Oh God no. Please. This isn't supposed to happen so fast. Did I do something wrong? Did I make him angry? What did I say last time? What if—_

"Oh she's in here all right," someone says half-sarcastically half-gravely. "You'll want to see this."

With a roar, Freddie knees Brown in the gut and takes off toward the building. He's moving so fast that he gets in there before Mustache Man.

Tens of flashlights are illuminating the large room. The booths are still there, but the individual tables are all gone except for one with a chair next to it. A black top hat is hanging diagonally off one of the top corners of the chair. Freddie freezes. That's his hat. He's been looking for it since last Tuesday. But that's not what ruptures his core.

There are pictures. Everywhere. Covering the ground, the booths and the corresponding tables, the single table in the center of the room, on the chair, the counters, plastered onto the walls. It's as if the entire room was a 3-D mosaic art piece that Spencer had put together. Except somehow amidst all the chaos, there is a certain organization and purpose behind the arrangement. An organization that chills Freddie to the bone.

And as he looks closer, he sees the reoccurring subjects of the pictures.

Himself. Himself and Sam.

Freddie walking to school. Freddie sipping a drink at the Groovy Smoothie. Freddie hugging his mother. Freddie sitting on the fire escape. Freddie talking on his Pear Phone. Freddie grabbing a coffee in the morning. Freddie going for a run. Freddie chugging his water bottle after his run. Freddie reading on a park bench. Freddie doing this. Freddie doing that. Freddie living his life with someone watching. Always watching.

Freddie catches a glimpse of the book title in the park picture. He pales. He rented that book from the library at _least_ a few months ago.

How long was he being watched?

Sam.

Sam picking up a hot dog on her way to school. Sam hanging out with Carly. Sam at Build-a-Bra. Sam entering the Groovy Smoothie. Sam sneaking out of detention through the window. Sam looking at her phone and smiling. Sam crossing the street. Illegally, of course. Sam yelling at someone over the phone. Sam doing this. Sam doing that. Sam living her life with someone watching. Always watching.

It's bad enough that this psycho had been stalking _him_ for so long. But Sam too?

Freddie saw red. His clenched fists were so tight that his fingernails dug into his palms and drew blood.

She was a target for all this time. And Freddie couldn't do anything to protect her. The monster had been planning this for a while. A _long_ while.

Everyone is slowly moving around the room, looking in awe at the scene. Freddie makes his way to the lone table at the center of the room. He quickly realizes that these pictures are different from the thousands of others.

They include both Freddie and Sam. Together.

Laughing, fighting, talking, walking, wrestling… Wait a second.

He recognizes the clothes they have on. This picture was taken that very afternoon. He wants to cry.

In the center of the table, there are two pictures from that day. On the slight left there's him, giving Sam the look he's both ashamed and proud of. That look of want, of hope, of lust, of pure desire. She doesn't notice him staring.

The picture a little to the right is Sam looking at him while he's distracted by his Pear Phone. She has a small smile on her face, and her eyes are sparkling. _Is…is she…is that the same…could she…?_

And then he notices another fresh picture poking out from under the two photos of them stealing glances at each other. He moves them aside.

His heart stops. His breath halts. The hairs on his body stand straight up as if he's been electrocuted. His mouth is dry. His throat burns and closes up. His eyes sting. His pores explode with tiny sweat beads.

He's dead.

It's her. Her limbs broken and twisted in angles that he can't fathom. Blood dried and spattered and caked on her throat, face, body. Her eye swollen and closed. Tears flooding from her good eye. The look of pure terror and vulnerability on her face. The dark purple bruises on her neck, stomach, everywhere.

Her stomach.

_Oh my God_. The beast undressed her.

The moan that escapes his lips isn't even human. He collapses on the floor and screams. He screams and sobs and lets go of the picture, his hands ripping at his hair and pulling his head into his knees. The photo flutters to the cold ground beside him. He shoves it away, but the thin square circles in the air and lands where it was originally.

His entire body quakes. Whatever calm façade he's been trying to pull off for the past couple hours has permanently vanished. He's nothing. He can't go on. Knowing she's…the way she is. It's fatal.

He's vaguely aware of police gathering around him and picking up the picture, gasping and groaning and coughing, trying to keep in the vomit.

But Freddie doesn't have that control over his body that the police still have. His chest jolts and whatever he's eaten that day and yesterday is now surging up his esophagus and into his mouth and exploding onto the floor. It keeps coming for almost a full minute, and he's finding it hard to breathe afterward.

His phone rings.

It rings at least four times before Freddie chucks it across the room. It somehow switches onto speaker and sends the caller straight to voicemail.

"Ah, I had a feeling you wouldn't pick up." The voice almost makes him throw up again. "Oh well. I guess this means that you found my masterpiece. Cool, isn't it? It's a shame what happened to your friend, though. She's looked better. I would know."

Freddie lets out another sob and moans, letting his tears soak into the floor.

"At least you get it now that I'm not playing any game. You should find her soon. Who knows what other trouble she'll find herself in?"

"No…no…" Freddie groans.

"The clock is ticking, Freddie. I suggest you hurry up. The sooner you find her, the better. There is a time limit, though. You know that."

Freddie doesn't have to look at a clock to know.

12:32 AM

"You have sixteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Next update will be Saturday, I promise. Please let me know if I did okay this time.**

**A huge thanks to 'TheRockAngel', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'ILuvThisStory', 'green aura', 'Kezziexx', 'johnp1299', 'akarandomfang', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'irishfan62', 'Iam-seddiewarrior', 'Saskia lloyd', 'Stephaniebom', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', and 'miscellaneousmystery' (x2). YOU GUYS ARE MY LIFE. Heh. Not really. Well…**

'**ILuvThisStory' – yeah, I keep forgetting about him! Don't worry, he'll be in there soon :)**

'**Saskia lloyd' – aww well have fun! (I'm oozing jealousy right now) hope you get a chance to relax afterward before school starts up again!**

'**Stephaniebom' – thanks so mucchhhhhh! =]**


	10. Chapter Nine: Hour Nine

**I realized at 1 AM this morning that I was supposed to update in a few hours, so I stayed up all night for y'all. Please make me feel better by REVIEWING!**

**Chapter Nine: Hour Nine**

* * *

12:33 AM

The next half an hour or so is all a blur. Freddie hears consoling voices and feels fingers wrapping around his arms, trying to hoist him up. He scratches and screams and punches and kicks, but he can't defend himself against a team of police for too long. He was already exhausted, but this completely annihilated him.

Someone picks him up and Freddie goes limp in defeat. He feels the cool leather of the seat in a squad car, and he's hardly aware of the loud slam of the door behind him. Engines start, wheels screech, and the horns of Seattle late-night traffic echo in the darkness.

The picture is burned in his mind. It's all he sees when he closes his eyes.

_I'm okay._

_I'm…fine._

What else is she not telling him? What else has happened to her that the picture didn't capture?

The thought and some motion sickness almost make him throw up again.

A while later, the driver stops the car and says something to Freddie. The guy nudges him and repeats himself. As Freddie catches the last part of his sentence, he realizes it's Mustache Man.

"…go inside?"

He is silent for a long time. Mustache Man opens his mouth to ask him again when Freddie finally says something.

"I…" and then he chokes up.

Well, at least he said something.

"Look," the detective starts. "This is hard, to state the obvious. But you can't just break down and stop trying. That's exactly what this guy wants. Sam needs you more than ever now—"

Freddie explodes.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT _UP_! Stop saying that! Stop getting my hopes up and watching as they fall over and over again! She's never needed me! Sam has never needed anyone her whole life! And I get that the circumstances have changed, you moron! I'm not an idiot! And you don't have to keep _reminding_ me!" Freddie takes a breath when he runs out of air and melts. "She's dead…" he whimpers. "He's going to kill her. She's dead, she's dead, she's _dead_…!"

Mustache Man violently shakes Freddie's shoulders. "Hey! HEY!"

Freddie shuts up, but his entire body is trembling.

"Nothing's going to happen to her for at least fifteen more hours."

Freddie's incredulous.

"Nothing? _Nothing_? Did you even _see_ the picture?"

"Sorry, I meant—"

Freddie throws open the door and gets out, storming into the lobby and punching the elevator button. It dings, and Mustache Man squeezes inside just before the door closes. There is complete silence all eight floors up.

Freddie escapes to his room as the detective explains to Mrs. Benson what's going on and how his team is processing the scene as they speak.

He doesn't want to hear anymore.

He carefully clicks the door shut, as if breaking the silence in his head would make the image of her in his brain worse. Freddie slides his back down the door and hugs his knees into his chest in the darkness.

* * *

Is the room actually getting colder? Is this guy turning on some air conditioning switch? Or maybe she's just being paranoid. She snorts. _Yeah, because I have no right to be paranoid._

Whatever the case, she's cold. Really cold.

She's too tired to keep screaming at the figure, calling him names and telling him that he's sick and disgusting and needs to take a shower. He probably can't hear her anyway.

Sam doesn't have to see to know that her entire body is covered in Goosebumps. She's shivering, and these little movements cause parts of her body to tap against the ground repeatedly. Which is obviously painful.

"Oh no! call the nerd police! A killer rabbit's on the loose!"

She closes her eyes.

"Careful, there could be a kitty cat assassin up there!"

Why did she have to be so…Sam? Why couldn't she have taken him seriously for once and maybe she wouldn't be here? She doesn't know why she should even try anymore. She wasn't being tortured like this just to be let go at the end. She was going to die, like it or not.

Not.

She wants to escape the pain, to somehow knock herself out or numb everything out. But she's scared to harm herself. Even though she's giving up, she's scared of what might happen. If she doesn't get to see his face again, to hear his voice, to feel his arms around her, to—

No. Stop. It's not going to happen, so just grow up already,

Sam's bitter now, and angry. This makes her fear subside for a split second, and she's ready. Ready to bash her head into the floor and hopefully not kill herself. Actually, that wouldn't be the _worst_ thing…

The door flies open and she hears a little _sploosh_.

And then Niagara Falls is falling on her.

The water is freezing, and her body automatically bucks and spazzes and she screams. She's screamed so many times now that she's gotten used to that sound. But not this. Not when she's already waging wars with her body temperature.

The figure is done, and it leaves. Her teeth are actually chattering for the first time in her life. She's always wondered how people do it. She's tried it herself; opening and closing her mouth quickly, trying to make it a natural process. It's never worked.

And now she thinks, _Why would I have ever wanted it to?_

* * *

He cries for some time.

Then he finds himself in his bathroom, shoving things off the counter and ripping his shower curtain off the hooks and trashing his medicine cabinet. A razor blade falls from the cabinet onto the counter. He picks it up and looks at his wrists.

"Really Freddie? That's how a _girl_ would do it," he can hear Sam saying.

"What about my throat, huh?" he yells. "Would that be manly enough for you?"

"Eh, not quite."

Freddie shrieks and stomps and punches and kicks, but nothing about his tantrum calms him. He just wants to die. He can't do this anymore. He won't be able to find her in sixteen or however many hours. Even if he does, the psycho will just kill her as soon as he sees her. Or she'll die from her injuries on the way to the emergency room. Or—

All excuses for not bothering to fail once more.

He doesn't want another call. He doesn't want to hear his, her, _whatever's_ voice again. If he could speak to her once last time, tell her that everything was going to be okay, she's not alone, he'd find her, police are on their way, _anything_ to make her slip away in peace. He could tell her what he feels, what he's sure he'll get another chance at in another life. If she dies, he's going to make sure that he does too.

But before he does, before he gets the phone call of the hour, he wants to imagine. To live out his fantasy in some lucid dream, where everything feels so real and you control what happens. Where everything he could ever want in this life becomes reality.

He lies down on the bathroom tiles and closes his wet eyes, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he doesn't have enough time for a lucid dream. He'll just have to try to run through it, just thinking. Daydreaming at night.

She's here with him. Perfectly healthy and perfect and beautiful that only she can be. He's running his fingers down her arm, she's putting her head on his chest. Lying in the grass on some cliff overlooking the Pacific. He's feeling her breath warm his shirt and set fire to his skin. He's putting his other hand on her waist and pulling her closer to him. She's moving to bury her face in his neck. He's shivering as a cool breeze is whistling by. He's kissing the top of her head, and she's looking up at him with those eyes, those ocean eyes. Those crazy beautiful eyes.

He's pulling her body so that their heads are at the same level. He's caressing her cheek and she's leaning into it. He's kissing her. Freddie's kissing Sam.

RING.

She pulls away, startled.

RING.

She sits up and looks at him, accusing him with those ocean eyes.

RING.

She screams. "WHY AREN'T YOU SAVING ME?"

Freddie starts, breaking out of the fantasy cut so short. His pocket is vibrating and shrieking.

He hits the answer button and waits, expecting the voice to taunt him, reminding him silently to speak first. But he doesn't have to wait for long.

"You have forty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

Oh my God.

"Sam? Sam!"

"H-hi, Freddie." He hears a rapid, rhythmic clicking noise.

"I need to tell you, I—"

_If by chance he lets you talk to her again, stick to the facts. I may not know Sam, but I'm sure that she knows you care about her. So ask her what she sees, what she smells, hears, feels. Anything can help us to determine her location._

"F-F-Freddie?"

"Do you know where you are?" he blurts.

"N-no."

"Sam, are you okay? You sound…weird."

There's a brief silence. He hears a little shuffling.

"I'm just c-cold. I-it's really dark in h-here. The g-ground is h-hard."

That doesn't really tell him much, and she knows it.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," she whispers.

"No, no that's good," he lies. "What do you smell? Trees? Gas?"

She snorts a little. "J-just urine, d-detective."

They're both silent. She knows she's slipped up, and Freddie knows that she knows. What Sam doesn't know is that he already knows.

"Nothing can break you, Sam," he adds at the last moment.

"Time's up."

Odd enough, both Freddie and Sam don't protest or yell or even say anything. Neither of them knows why.

"Hello again."

"Hi."

"So I never got to ask; did you like my masterpiece?"

"Could you maybe turn the heat up in there?" he bitterly asks. "My friend says that's she's chilly."

"I'll see what I can do. But the heater is having a hissy fit, so no promises."

Freddie closes his eyes. He can't talk like this guy, make sarcastic remarks and objectify Sam like she's some _thing_. He's ashamed.

"But back to my masterpiece. I'm so proud of it. The entire layout was carefully placed and when I finished, it was so…" The voice breathes. "It had a certain…ring to it, you know? Like a song. When a song is put together so nicely, it has that…tune to it I guess. Don't you think?"

"Sure."

Freddie hears banging on his bedroom door. "Son? Who are you talking to?" Mustache Man's voice is muffled.

"I hear you have company, so I'll let you go. But remember! Always remember."

1:32 AM

"You have fifteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**REVIEW PLEEEEEEASE. Just like 'nadene-seddiefan', 'TheRockAngel', 'Kezziexx', 'irishfan62', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'lauren', 'miscellaneous mystery', 'GoingNuts', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Seddieforlife', 'green aura', 'akarandomfang', 'hejk12345', and 'Iam-seddiewarrior' did.**

'**lauren' – wow, thanks so much!**

'**ILuvThisStory' – haha I'm a girl. Don't choke! I'll have warnings where warnings are due :) WOO! 2013! Thanks!**


	11. Chapter Ten: Hour Ten

**I know that a lot of you are probably crashing for finals or recovering from that nightmare, so this chapter is for all of you brave ones out there.**

**Chapter Ten: Hour Ten**

* * *

1:33 AM

Mustache Man is still pounding away on that door, so Freddie mercifully stumbles over and unlocks it. "He called," he says without any emotion.

His mother is also there. "Well, what did he say? Did you talk to her? Did he give you any…"

Freddie suddenly pales. How _stupid_ of him!

"Oh no," he breathes. He turns to Mustache Man. "You couldn't record it because I was in here and I probably don't even remember anything and—"

"No, no; it's fine," the man interrupts him. "We have technology that records your specific line whenever you're using your phone. Don't worry."

Freddie relaxes, but not by much.

"But I want you to have the calls with me there in the future. Let's go back to the living room and go over the conversation. I know it's probably the last thing you want to do right now, but—"

"No, I do." Freddie sets his jaw. "I just want to get her back."

* * *

Her teeth are constantly chattering, reminding Sam that yes, she _is_ cold. Like she doesn't know that already.

And even though her inner thighs aren't as hot and obnoxious now since the figure removed her pants, they're still itchy as chizz. She is painfully aware that she is half-naked, and of all the things to think about, she wonders what she looks like. Does she need to shed a few pounds? Is that bulge in her right arm still there? What about that roll in her stomach she was obsessing over a month ago?

_God, I'm such a girl. I'm dying in some torture chamber and miserable from the pain, and all I think about is how I look. What the heck is _wrong_ with me?_

Sam suddenly feels pathetic and weak and broken.

_Nothing can break you, Sam._

Maybe he's right. Maybe after all this, she is still somehow there, somewhere under the blood and bruises and cuts that she's sure exist. Maybe she'll actually see another sunrise again. Maybe—

Footsteps, door, light, door, dark. She's been through all that before.

But not what comes after.

Sometimes when your leg or whatever falls asleep, there's that stage of recovery that feels like tiny pins everywhere, and you don't know whether to laugh or cry.

In this case, Sam can't do either. Her good eye, and maybe her swelled eye too, are forced open, but not by fingers. It's some invisible force that originates from the skin around her stomach. Her devastated limbs undergo some sort of spasm and straighten, or as much as biology and physics will let them. Her mouth is shocked open, but no sound comes out. Even her eyelashes feel like they're being pulled apart.

Then it stops, and Sam recovers enough to have it happen again and again and again…

It ends for real this time, just before she thinks her heart is about to stop beating. Footsteps, door, light, door, dark. It's over.

She battles her way into a sort of half-conscious half-vertigo-type trance, where she can somewhat gather her thoughts together. Was, was that…was she just _electrocuted_?

It isn't as fun or funny as TV seems to portray it. Sam wonders what Freddie felt when she shocked him with that trick pen of Spencer's.

She closes her eyes.

_Maybe nothing can break me. Maybe. But Freddie, you better get here soon before this guy discovers something that will._

* * *

"So she obviously doesn't know where she is," Freddie states bitterly. "Thanks for the advice."

Mustache Man forces a tight smile. "It couldn't hurt."

They listen some more. "That whole masterpiece/ring/tune thing is weird. Could that be some sort of clue?"

Freddie sighs wearily and threads his fingers through his dark hair. "Maybe?"

"Do you know anyone obsessed with music? Or maybe your interaction with this person involved music?"

He pales.

"There was Wade Collins..." Mrs. Benson brings in another batch of coffee from the kitchen for the officers. "He was a guest star on our show, and when we figured out he was a complete jerk, we sorta trashed him in front of thousands of people and told them to basically beat him up." He grimaces. How _stupid_.

"Okay..." Mustache Man glances over to one of the tech guys. "Address."

"Yes, boss."

The detective turns back to Freddie. "Anyone else?"

He gets the address from the nerd behind the computer before Freddie thinks of the next possible suspect.

"There was this kid about our age…I think his name was…Jake? Jake…Krandle? Something like that. Went to Ridgeway with us."

"Get me an—"

"Address? On it, boss," the techie interrupts.

"Who else?"

Mustache Man gets the second address and Freddie gives an exasperated shrug. "That's all I got."

The detective stands up and barks orders. "Frost's team, you go pick up this Jake kid and Gregg's team will get Collins. Go."

Freddie gets up, but Mustache Man sits the both of them down. "We need to go over some stuff still."

"But what if—"

"If Sam is in either of those two places, which I somehow doubt she is, I'll have you there in a heartbeat. I swear."

That doesn't satisfy Freddie in the _least_, but what's the point in arguing? He never gets his way with this guy.

"What do we need to go through? I gave you names; we did all this! There aren't any more hints or lessons or _anything_!" The last of the field teams disappear out the apartment's front door.

Mustache Man strokes his mustache. "That's what's nagging at me. It's…it's always carefully planned. It seems like…" He pauses. "Wait a second."

The detective gets out a decently sized piece of paper and writes the numbers one through nine on it. After consulting his notes for a little while, he puts an "S" next to the three, six, and nine. He puts an "L" next to the six.

Freddie is beyond confused. "Uh…explain please?"

"The numbers are every time this guy has called you. 'S' is when you talked to Sam. The 'L' is that one lesson he gave you. Is it a coincidence that the times he put Sam on the phone were on the multiples of three?"

Freddie's heart beats a little faster. "No, I guess not…"

"I'm also guessing that you'll get some more of these 'lessons'. The next one will be on the twelfth call. At least that's my prediction."

"So…he's following patterns. Are these the only ones?"

The mustache gets stroked again. "I think so…"

"What about factors of twenty-four? Like two or eight… or four or twelve?"

Mustache Man flips through his notes. "I can't see anything common every two or four hours. But…" he hesitates. "The eighth call came after we found all the…pictures at the abandoned restaurant building."

He writes a "P" next to the eight. "The 'P' is for place. For now. Again, that could be completely a coincidence." Freddie and the detective are silent for a few seconds.

_Coincidence, _Freddie thinks bitterly. _Yeah right._

"What about twelve?" Freddie can't help but ask.

Mustache Man gives a helpless shrug. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

* * *

Sam hears a tiny crackling noise above her head. After a few minutes of waiting in terror, expecting the wall or ceiling or both to cave in on her, she realizes it's just her hair fizzing from the electricity. She's still shaking.

Sam is starting to get out of her stunned state and feel the pain of her injuries all over again. It's too much. This is all too much. It always was.

_Nothing can break you, Sam._

She lets out such a feral yell that she scares herself. And that fuels her adrenaline, which _always_ makes her do idiotic things.

"You ready to kill me yet, big boy?" she screams into the darkness. "Or am I too much for you? Break my neck, shoot me, do your worst you _WUSS_!"

Silence answers her rant.

_Fantastic_.

* * *

The detective hangs up his phone. "My teams have both Collins and Krandle coming in for questioning."

Freddie lets his thumbs massage his temples. "Should I tell this perv that I'm onto his patterns?"

Mustache Man ponders the question. "No…for now. I'm not sure how he'll react."

And right on cue, Freddie's cell phone rings.

Somehow he's known that it's neither Jake nor Wade.

"Hi."

"'Sup, my man?" the voice asks. "Long time, no speak."

"Not really." Freddie keeps his voice emotionless.

"You're right I guess. Anyway. How are things going? Pick up any more suspects?"

"Do you have something real to say this time?" Freddie is _beyond_ irritated. "Or can you just tell me how much time I have left, as if I don't know, and then I can hang up."

"But where's the fun in that?"

"Why does it have to be fun?"

The voice laughs. "Fun always makes things better. What if sports weren't fun? What if eating wasn't fun? I don't know _what_ I'd do without fun food! Wow, what if eating cheesecake wasn't fun? Now _that_ would be a catastrophe."

Freddie snorts humorlessly. "Sure, that makes sense."

"Open your mind, Freddie. Get those math formulas and techy knowledge out of your brain and work on some street smarts or something. No wonder Sam thinks you're such a noob."

He sees red, and his teeth grind together. "Don't even _say_ her name. Got it?"

"Whatever, Mr. Moody. Well, I'm going to have a late-night snack. You should too if you plan on pulling an all-nighter. I hear this is your first real one."

Freddie sputters, not knowing what to say. How could he know that?

"SHUT UP!" he finally blurts. He sounds pathetic and weak and broken.

"I only speak the truth, buddy. Well, most of the time."

Freddie's fists clench. "Just say it."

2:32 AM

"You have fourteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**So this was another one of those "oh yeah, I'm supposed to update in a few hours, aren't I?" moments, so please help me to recover by ****reviewing****…even if it's one word. :D **

**I leave for college again tomorrow. Bye winter break :( it's been fun.**

**Oh, and I had some trouble saving this for some reason, so if there are any random grammar mistakes, it probably means that my computer is an idiot. But we all know that already.**

**THANK YOU SERIOUSLY to 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Kezziexx', 'TheRockAngel', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Seddieforlife', 'GoingNuts', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'green aura', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'Guest', 'akarandomfang', 'irishfan62', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'miscellaneousmystery', 'makeda478', and 'hejk12345'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – she did, it was just a sarcastic nickname for Freddie during their convo…didn't mean for it to have an actual deep meaning…or did I? muahaha I love this :) and thanks!**

'**Guest' – thanks so much! If everything goes right, I update every Saturday.**


	12. Chapter Eleven: Hour Eleven

**Okay, who watched the past two EPIC NCIS episodes? And who is ECSTATIC that Pretty Little Liars is FINALLY back? Rant about it, people! PLEAAASEEEE!**

**Chapter Eleven: Hour Eleven**

* * *

2:33 AM

Freddie doesn't say anything for a long time after the call ends. Mustache Man lets him be.

"…_you plan on pulling an all-nighter. I hear this is your first real one."_

How could he know?

Freddie punches in her number.

The phone rings for a long time and goes to voicemail. He redials. It rings three times and then finally he hears a click and a little shuffling. She sounds disoriented.

"H-hello?"

"Carly, it's me."

"Hi, Freddie," she mumbles. Freddie is quiet for a moment and waits for her to actually wake up.

"Oh, oh my God, Freddie!"

There she is.

"Have you heard anything? Is she okay? I can't believe I fell asleep! You have her, right?"

He sighs. "No. I'm sorry."

"Oh." Another moment of silence.

"Did you tell anyone else about…about Sam?"

"Um, no…just Spencer."

Freddie rubs the bridge of his nose. "This may sound weird, but who would know that I've never pulled an all-nighter before?"

"Um, what?"

"I know. Just…do you know?"

"Unless you told someone else…I don't think anyone does…maybe Spencer, but I doubt it."

_That just doesn't make any sense._

"Is he with you?"

"Spencer? Yeah, he's sleeping."

"Oh. Okay. Uh, I gotta go."

"Call me soon, okay?"

"Sure." They hang up.

Mustache Man shifts his seat on the couch. "So?"

Freddie shakes his head. It doesn't make any sense. It isn't a fact that he likes to publicize, and he's sure that he hasn't vocalized it to anyone. Carly and Sam just know it. No one else.

The hairs on his neck stand on end.

_That's…that's just nuts. That's what this guy _wants_ you to think. You saw them packing. You saw them leaving. You're _really_ losing it now._

He gets up without a word and walks out his front door. Mustache Man isn't far behind, protesting and asking him where he's going.

Freddie finds the spare key, fits it in the lock, and swings open the Shay's apartment door.

And there they are.

Mustache Man comes up behind him and asks, "What are you _doing_?"

He doesn't answer. He slowly walks farther into the apartment, letting his eyes graze over the overly stuffed suitcases propped up against the couch. He hears his mother call for him.

Freddie sinks down to the floor and hugs his knees. "Th-they…they never _left_?"

"Who?"

He looks up at the detective with tears in his eyes. "Carly…and Spencer."

"They're not in Hawaii?"

Freddie starts breathing unevenly. "But…but I saw them pack these. These…these very suitcases…" He rips open a suitcase, nearly tearing off the zipper in the process. Her clothes. That green dress he remembers helping her shove in the bag. It's all there.

He chucks the 35-pound suitcase across the room and bursts into tears. He wanted this to all be over, but not this way. There's…this just isn't possible. They wouldn't do this. They…they just _couldn't_.

Mrs. Benson races across the room and throws her arms around her little boy. "Fredward…don't cry. Please…you'll feel better after you eat."

"HOW?!" he shrieks. "My best friend did this! Spencer…he's…he's _torturing_ her! How could I _ever_ feel _anything_ after this?"

"Now hold on a minute," Mustache Man says. "This could be exactly what this guy wants you to think."

Freddie clumsily crawls to the suitcase and its scattered contents and holds up a couple shirts. "But these are _her_ clothes! In _her_ suitcase! In _her_ living room! In _her_ apartment!"

"We just can't be too hasty. I don't think they would leave their stuff out in the open like this. This guy has been too smart to just screw up this blatantly."

Freddie sniffs back the last of his tears and presses redial on his Pear Phone.

She picks up on the second ring. "Yeah?"

"I need proof that both you and Spencer are in Hawaii _right_ now." He's struggling a lot, trying to hold it all in.

"Huh?"

"YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" he explodes. "GIVE ME PROOF!"

"Freddie," her voice shakes out. "You're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Just give me proof," he growls. "And don't take long." He hangs up.

Silence dominates the room for a little. Then Mustache Man musters up the courage to speak. "I think we should go over the phone call like usual."

Freddie's phone rings, but he silences it. After a couple seconds, he takes a breath for the first time in a whole minute. "Fine."

They walk across the hall and close the door. Freddie silences the phone when it rings another time. All three of them collapse on the couch, and Mustache Man plays the last conversation.

Freddie's phone beeps with a text a few seconds later, and he glances at it.

_Freddie, what's going on? Talk to me!_

He deletes the message.

"_I don't know _what_ I'd do without fun food! Wow, what if eating cheesecake wasn't fun? Now _that_ would be…"_

"Wait, go back," Freddie blurts, even though he doesn't really need to hear it again. "Cheesecake."

When he doesn't elaborate, Mustache Man says, "And…"

"It's Reuben. He had this stupid crush on Sam, and we went to the Cheesecake Warehouse a long time ago with Sam and Carly and this girl named Shannon and our friend Gibby—"

As if on cue, Freddie's apartment door bursts open and the boy announces, "Gibbaaaayyyyy!"

Freddie practically has a heart attack and jumps out of his seat as his mother screams. "_Gibby_? It's like three in the morning! What are you _doing_ here?"

He looks confused. "It's not three in the…" he pauses. "Ohhhhh, so _that's_ why it's so dark outside!"

Freddie's hand comes up to his forehead. He _really_ doesn't need this right now. But of course, the universe seems to think that he does.

"What are all these freaks doing here?" Gibby asks, hands over his chest, faking a tough and menacing look.

Freddie sighs. "They're cops, Gibby. Sam's…missing."

"Missing what?" He suddenly gasps. "No! It's not her buttersock, is it?"

"_Buttersock_?" Mustache Man asks, evidently having no clue what's going on.

"No! Gibby, she's—just… why are you _here_?" Freddie's words stumble over each other.

"Well obviously it's not three in the _afternoon_, so I obviously made a vase out of wool." Gibby rolls his eyes and unfolds his arms when Freddie gives him a bizarre look. "I guess I'll be going then, RUDE!"

"Wait, Gibby…!"

"Gibby goooonnnnneeee…." he drags out as the door closes behind him.

All of them are silent for a moment. Mustache Man is again the first one to say something. "Who was _that_?"

Mrs. Benson scoffs. "Fredward's _imbecile_ companion."

"Just a friend who…isn't really right in the head," Freddie corrects.

"Could he be doing this and just faking his—"

"He's been like that for years," Freddie sighs. "I doubt it."

"Alright then…" Mustache Man opens his notebook. "So these Reuben and…Sharon people?"

"Shannon. Shannon Mitchell and Reuben…uh…not really sure about his last name. There can't be many Reuben's in the world, though. They both went to Ridgeway."

The tech guy is on it right away.

"But Reuben talks a little funny," Freddie continues. "Well, a lot funny. But I think he went to speech therapy or something—"

"Uh, sir?" The computer nerd is already done. "That Reuben kid is currently in some mental institution called Troubled Waters." Freddie is hardly surprised.

"What about Shannon?"

Keys are tapped at a rapid-fire pace. "Moved to Chicago three years ago, confirmed address and school."

_What? They're both gone? Why would that moron give me a clue so obviously pointless as that one?_

Freddie's phone rings again. He's so irritated and confused and emotional that he thoughtlessly presses the Answer button and screams, "WHAT?"

"Freddie?" she whispers.

"Carly, I told you I need proof! Now send it to me or I'll have you _both_ locked up for the rest of eternity!" He hangs up, shaking.

"Take it easy, son," Mustache Man says lowly. "It's very possible she's innocent. This guy is good."

He wants to scream, cry, strangle him, punch his face, punch the wall. But he just closes his eyes and waits.

* * *

Her vision is making her dizzy even though all she sees is blackness. Spots and flashes of medium blue scatter her eyes from one side to the other. She's cold and in pain and scared and mad and schizophrenic. She keeps hearing his voice, remembering how the phone sometimes caught his breath falling on the mouthpiece, making that static sound.

"Nothing can break me," she finds herself whispering aloud. "Nothing can break me."

She keeps repeating it over and over again, trying to make it true, her voice getting louder and louder until she's practically screaming it.

Those footsteps and that light and this darkness.

Sam feels hands tear at the cloth covering her, and instead of screaming words, she's just screaming. She feels colder down there. The straps over her shoulders are ripped off along with her bra. She's crying.

"Are you indestructible now, HUH?" The morphed voice booms, inches from her face. "You know you're breaking, and soon you _will_." The figure leaves.

She just continues crying, humiliated and vulnerable and naked.

* * *

It rings. The tech guy prepares uselessly again to get a trace.

"Speak," Freddie barks.

"Well, hello! Wow, we're almost halfway there, Freddie. You aren't even making an effort."

He fumes. "I guess I'm just stupid. Or pathetic. Or sick. Reminds me of you."

"You really need to get more clever with your insults. I'm getting bored."

"Then stop this and bring Sam back. It doesn't have to be this moronic and pointless."

The voice chuckles. "Oh, this does have a point. Are you breaking yet? Or let me say, _broken_?"

Freddie can't speak.

"That's what you told your friend, right? That nothing can break her? It's hard to take advice from someone who doesn't practice what he preaches."

"You religious?" Freddie blurts out.

The voice bursts into a round of distorted laughter that lasts for around ten seconds. "Thanks, Freddie. I needed that. For a hypocrite, you tell funny jokes."

"Are. You. Religious." His voice is forceful and hard.

"You really want to know, huh?" The voice sighs. "No. No I'm not."

Freddie doesn't really know what to say now.

"What's the matter? Laziness got your tongue?"

"What?"

"God, you're stupid. Hah! That's hilarious; I just said I wasn't religious! But anyway. Cats are lazy. The saying 'cat got your tongue'. Come on, this isn't some impossible piecewise function in your calculus class."

"Shut up."

"So have you asked your other friend where she is? What about her brother?"

"I know she didn't do this." He tries to sound convincing. "You actually thought that I would believe that?"

"Don't even try, Freddie. You saw the suitcases. It's taking an awful long time for her to send a stupid picture to prove it."

Freddie pales.

"But whatever. I'm getting bored. But that Gibby friend of yours sure isn't boring. Man, he's a piece of work, am I right?" The voice laughs again.

"You seem really happy. What changed?" Freddie cautiously asks.

"Oh, nothing. But you'll be broken. I just can't wait to hear it in you."

"What are you tal—"

3:32 AM

"You have thirteen hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**I LOVE YOUUUUUU 'TheRockAngel', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'Kezziexx', 'lauren', 'Guest', 'ILuvThisStory', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'lightingskies', 'makeda478', 'irishfan62', 'Iam-seddiewarrior', 'scribblesanddriddles', 'hejk12345', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'Kenzie Kenz 3', 'akarandomfang', and 'Kikiara12' for reviewing. It means SOOOO much.**

'**lauren' – thank you very much, it means a lot!**

'**Guest' – haha probably because it is very creepy.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – hah, thanks! I **_**really**_** wish I could, but between college and my personal issues, I'm just grateful to be able to update weekly again! Thanks so much for always reviewing, you make meh smile :)**

'**lightingskies' – thank you so much! That would be the ideal situation, wouldn't it? Saturdays are always the best, and I'm glad to contribute to that!**

'**Kenzie Kenz 3' – I wish I did upload every day, but for now I will EVERY Saturday. I also post my updating dates on my profile, if you are ever curious. I knowwwww, the unrealistic lovey dovey ones irk me too, haha. What other stories have you read of mine? Thanks so much for being so…awesome!**


	13. Chapter Twelve: Hour Twelve

**WARNING: Please don't read this if you can be easily offended by vulgar descriptions. If you start reading and are uncomfortable, please don't continue if you don't want to. The LAST thing I want to do is hurt or insult someone, especially with a past of abuse.**

**Chapter Twelve: Hour Twelve**

* * *

3:33 AM

Something is crawling on her foot. She doesn't know how she notices this; it's practically nothing compared to what she currently feels. It's small; its rhythmic taps on her ankle distract her momentarily from her situation.

"What are you doing here, little spider?" she finds herself asking the room. "Go home."

It skates across her calf and falls to the floor. She misses it.

The light blinds her when the door creaks open and clicks shut. The silence is very loud. It's trying to tell her something. It's shrieking at her, pleading for her to listen.

And suddenly, she knows.

Sam doesn't scream. She doesn't beg him to let her go. She just sobs. Nothing is worse than this. She wants to die. She wants to go to this heaven people keep talking about.

Fingers tickle the tiny hairs on her arm. She lets out a yell and cries.

How is she _not_ dead? He's broken practically every joint she has. Not to mention drowning, electrocuting, stripping her…

And now this.

They trace the skin around her stomach now. She contracts and does her best to shrink away. Down her leg.

Before he begins, she whispers one last thing.

"Please, I'm already broken."

Her injured legs are shoved to the side along the hard floor. Sam wants the pain that results to be worse. She wants to be unconscious. Or dead. Dead would be better, because then she wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath.

_Zip._

_Swish._

_Smack._

The echo that his belt buckle makes when it cracks against the floor shatters her ears.

She screams when her skin rips apart.

* * *

"_But you'll be broken. I just can't wait to hear it in you."_

How could it be _any_ worse?

He could kill her.

_No, NO. He wouldn't ruin his countdown, right? He still has what, thirteen more? Twelve more hours to go?_

Twelve.

_No…_

"He'll go all the way to twenty-four, right? He won't stop this early?"

Mustache Man furrows his brow. "You sound hopeful."

Freddie rubs his eyes, but there are too many tears to stop. "Just be honest."

He shrugs. "I don't know. What's going on?"

"It's almost the twelfth hour. The midpoint. It has to be the midpoint and not the end, right?"

"I'm not sure—"

"IS HE GOING TO KILL HER NOW OR NOT?" Freddie yells.

The man hesitates. "Let's go over the tape again. I think the cal—"

"Enough with the calls!" Freddie throws the recording device on the floor. "Enough with sitting here and doing nothing! This guy isn't going to give us anything useful! He doesn't want to be found! He just wants Sam and me to suffer!"

He moves to the door. "I'm done with _all_ of this."

Freddie ignores the protests and slams the door behind him.

* * *

Sam thrashes her head around, hoping that she'll somehow head-butt this guy just like he made her head-butt Freddie. She feels that searing pain again and her head bangs back against the floor. She can barely hear herself scream.

She wants to move her legs so bad. Even if desire somehow unbreaks bones and triggers the motor neurons in her brain, it doesn't matter. He's blocking them, making sure that he isn't stopped.

She can see his face looking at her with disgust. Contempt. Hatred. His eyes accusing her of enjoying it. Of not trying to stop it. Of being dirty, revolting, filthy.

_Freddie, don't hate me…_

It happens again and tears flow freely down her face as the pain tears her apart anew.

* * *

_Right under your nose._ He goes to Bushwell's basement first. He looks everywhere, even tapping on the walls and expecting to hear a hollow sound like on TV. Nothing.

He leaves the apartment complex, mentally kicking himself for not taking a jacket.

"_I'm just c-cold." Click-click click-click click-click. _

The sound. It was her teeth chattering.

He kicks himself again, but this time for being such a baby.

He doesn't care that it's four in the morning in Seattle. He doesn't care if he's mugged or attacked or hit by a car. He needs the escape. He needs the air.

"SAM!" He waits a few seconds. He chides himself for actually expecting her voice to yell back. Tell him that she hears him. That she's near. That she's okay. That she's alive.

Freddie starts running, screaming her name every couple blocks. He takes roads and side streets that he never knew existed. Or maybe it was too dark to tell. He knows that he's lost and couldn't care less. He yells for her, even when his head is throbbing and his throat feels like it's scraping against the roof of his mouth.

Car horns and the shouts of annoyed people who are attempting to sleep are the only things that keep him company.

* * *

He does it again, and slaps her right across the face when he doesn't get the reaction he's expecting. When she still isn't responding, he smacks her again. She chokes out a sob, and he smiles.

"Are you breaking?" he hisses in her ear.

Her heart stops along with her crying. She can't breathe. It's the voice. His _real_ voice.

Somehow it's a hundred times more horrifying than the disguised version.

* * *

He's run for a long time now. He feels his heart let out a small pop, and this tiny movement releases a searing pain in his chest, causing him to stumble to the ground and gasp for air.

Freddie croaks out her name again, and his lungs collapse.

* * *

Sam's screams subside into a monotonous and continuous sob, and he moves away from her, done after what feels like hours of hell. Worse than hell.

"Was that okay?" She can feel the snake's hot breath and expects a poisonous bite at any moment. She's paralyzed with terror.

_Swish._

_Zip._

Footsteps, light, door, darkness.

She feels so open, so violated, so worthless and disgusting and humiliated. She should have forced her arms to move, her nails to gouge his eyes out, her teeth to bite his toxic flesh off. But she was just pathetically lying there, letting him do it. Letting him rob her of whatever she had left. She should have worshipped it. She'd often dream of how and when she would lose it. She was never thankful for its existence. She wanted it to be special, memorable, with someone she loved and trusted with every inch of her being. She even imagined it would be with him. That annoying nub of _all_ people. The nub she happened to fall for. Hard. So hard that it was devastating and exhilarating at the same time. Maybe she'd have a ring on her finger. Maybe she wouldn't. She didn't care enough to analyze the morality of it. All she knew was that she wanted to lose it.

This wasn't the way she wanted to lose it.

* * *

Freddie knows the call will come soon. He knows something earth shattering will happen. It's hour twelve. He'll either get to speak to her or find out that he never will again.

His phone emits a sound, but it's short. He pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen. The same suitcases. They're holding a vacation pamphlet and a dated newspaper. Standing next to a confused-looking hotel employee in a uniform that makes his dark skin pop against the white material. It's obvious that Carly has been crying, which isn't surprising, and Spencer just looks lost.

Freddie puts his phone back in his pocket and cries.

A few minutes later, his ringtone makes him hiccup back to a more stable state. His hand is shaking so hard that he barely makes contact with the Answer button.

"Hello?"

"You have thirty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

He almost laughs with relief. It's not over.

"No, don't make me talk to him, please!"

His world shatters.

"Please, stop…don't make me do it…" he hears her crying.

Freddie's lungs can't function, and the oxygen needed to say her name, to ask for an explanation, to tell her _anything_ just isn't there.

He hears soft, concealed sobs until he punches his chest, swallowing in the air.

"Sam?"

Dead silence.

"Sam, please…please talk to me. What's wrong?"

He feels the time slipping away and whispers, "Please say something."

The sobs come again, and the words that break him escape her mouth.

"H-he raped me."

She's crying and screaming out her agony, trying to make it untrue, to take back the words she's said. She needs to become whole again, to be back home with her rabid cat and psychotic mother. She needs to be the naïve child who pushed Carly off the bench on that first day. She needs to shoot paint balls at Spencer, to torture Gibby with the fact that he used to take his shirt off. To fight with Freddie again, producing that fire and emotion that rips her chest apart, secretly knowing that neither of them mean what they say. To go back to yesterday and suggest that they stay at his place instead of going to that movie. To be with him forever.

"Time's up."

He's choking on his own saliva, slumped against a wall of some building. He never imagined something like this would happen to someone so close to him. The Sam he knows is strong and independent and can take down both the wrestling and football teams at the same time. Putting together what is now real is something he can't comprehend or handle at _all_.

He is broken. Everything that Sam ever was has been stripped from her in an instant. Recovery is impossible. A normal life is impossible. Everything is impossible.

"This is your second lesson, Freddie," the morphed voice says. "Always expect the unexpected."

He doesn't know what to do anymore.

4:32 AM

"You have twelve hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**I apologize for the awfulness of this chapter. It hurt me to write it, and I'm sorry if I offended anyone or brought back unwanted memories for victims. I know this sounds terrible, but if anyone needs to speak to someone, I'm always here. I'm obviously second choice to therapists, friends, and family members. I might not be able to relate, but it helps to get it out there sometimes. And it might help if it's not to someone you know. Forgive me.**

**Thanks for reviewing: 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Seddieforlife', 'lauren', 'ILuvThisStory', 'irishfan62', 'akarandomfang', 'akg.517', 'Stephanie blank', 'Kenzie Kenz 3', and 'Seddie is the new purple'.**

'**lauren' – aw, thanks!**

'**ILuvThisStory' – promise! Thanks so much!**

'**Stephanie blank' – thank you!**

'**Kenzie Kenz 3' – oh my gosh, thank you! Reading stuff like that helps me keep going with this :)**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Hour Thirteen

**I have to say a HUGE Thank You. 23 reviews last chapter. TWENTY THREE. And everyone that's favorited or followed this story are my heroes. I honestly love you all.**

**MAJOR CLARIFICATION! – The quote from last chapter: "She can see his face looking at her with disgust…of being dirty, revolting, filthy." The "face" she saw was FREDDIE'S, NOT the figure's. She was imagining what Freddie would think of her now.**

**Sorry about that if it wasn't clear!**

**Chapter Thirteen: Hour Thirteen**

* * *

4:33 AM

Burning.

Searing pain. Unfamiliar aches. Needless exposure. Coveted mortality.

That primitive survival instinct is gone. The torture now arises from the fact that Death isn't here yet.

_Where are You?_

* * *

_Freddie, please tell me what's going on. I'm scared._

His thumb shakes above Delete, but it never touches down. He lets the screen fade to black. Darkness now envelops him whole.

_Always expect the unexpected._

So what now?

_Always expect the unexpected._

What is he not expecting?

For all of this to be a dream. Freddie uses the brick wall to sit himself back up. He punches his gut until he's sure there will be bruises. He pinches his skin until he takes it too far and his skin breaks, allowing drops of blood to escape.

"Wake up…_please_…"

But he already _is_ awake.

He's not expecting for what she said to him to be a lie. Sam wasn't raped. Freddie visualizes weights being lifted off his shoulders, but doesn't actually feel it happen. _It's not true. He's just trying to get to me. Sam is fine. He just made her say that. He probably threatened to hurt Carly or Spencer or Frothy or anyone and everyone she cares about. Sam would never let someone do that to her. It's not _her_._

He takes a breath.

_Sam's faking all of this._

Despite everything that is happening, he lets out a broken laugh. _Oh please. Let's not get _too_ carried away here._

_Always expect the unexpected._

Freddie bursts into tears.

* * *

The light is blinding and the darkness provides visibility.

"I'm ready to die. It's okay. I'm ready."

"That's not what I have in mind."

The response is unexpected. It prevents further words from coming out.

A slight crackling sound fills the air. A slight orange glow is visible.

"I know it's what you want. You can do it now. It'll make both of us feel better."

The glow gets closer.

"I'll be sad if you go. You're quite pleasurable company."

The words that are spoken don't seem real.

"Do whatever you want. Just do it to my corpse."

"You said you were broken."

Silence.

"I did."

"Then you're a corpse as far as I'm concerned."

The reply never gets a chance.

The scorching iron presses against skin, and screaming bounces off the walls. The rod is lifted. It's over.

The rod touches down in a different direction.

The process repeats over and over again. The smell of burning flesh dances in the air.

It seems calculated—far from random. The positions, the way it goes across skin under the belly button from right to left. The shape of the blazing tool.

It's done.

"I will nurse you back to health."

Heavy breaths, trying to control the pain. "No. I'd rather kill myself than let you do that."

"I'd like to see you try."

It's not certain whether that is sarcastic or meaningful.

Whatever this guy meant, Sam takes it to heart.

* * *

_Never mind, everything's fine._

An obvious lie, and he's sure that she won't believe it, but he sends that text anyway. He doesn't want to deal with Carly right now.

Freddie glances at the Caller ID when his phone rings. It's his mother. He'd rather talk to Carly.

He silences the device and grips the tiny crevices in the brick wall to help him stand up. His chest heaves, but there's nothing in his stomach to vomit. The emptiness grumbles. He gets dizzy. He's tired.

Freddie starts stumbling along the sidewalk, moving just to keep awake. He's drained. He doesn't understand why he can't just stay awake for one night. One night is all he's asking. All he needs. All he has.

He shrieks her name again.

* * *

Sam takes a deep breath. She's about to do it. End it all. She sees his smile, the light in his eyes, the shine in his hair. She hears his laugh and the sound of his breathing. She can almost feel his skin.

_One…_

Mustering all of her strength, she lifts her head off the ground.

_Two…_

She holds her breath as her muscles tense and become rigid.

_Thr—_

The door bursts open, interrupting the process.

"NO!" She feels a rough material land on her chest. Sam flings her skull against the ground, hearing the crack and feeling the earthquake. She sees the stars, and in her delusional state, they become tweeting birds, like in the cartoons.

She snaps out of it enough to raise her head again. It lands on something else this time. Something with five long bumps.

"We can't have you doing that now, can we?" he says.

She's crying as he slips her arms carefully through the straps of her bra, letting the sharp cotton graze her shoulders. She hates the pain but wants more. She wants to die. She feels the virus infecting her. Limb by limb. Pore by pore. Atom by atom.

It's revolting.

He cradles her bleeding head with his hand, pressing a damp cloth against the self-inflicted wound. She feels sick to her stomach, but there's nothing inside of her to remove.

Sam feels her back being carefully lifted, and then the strap is hooked. In another minute, she feels her still soiled underwear slipping up her legs and resting on her hips.

"Doesn't that feel good?"

He knows that it doesn't, for the itch is now back with even more power, invading the place that is open and vulnerable and aching. The bra strap is crushing her injured shoulder. The head wound isn't bleeding anymore. But he will not fix the aesthetics, or lack of it. He needs to see it. Before it's all over, he needs to see her. Alive.

He finds himself talking to her.

"You know, I don't think I'm a sadist." He can hear her sobbing. "I do have feelings. And real interests and passions."

"Stop talking to me," she whispers.

"What do you think, huh? Is there a heaven? Maybe a hell too? Or do we come back to life as a giraffe? Or maybe we float around as ghosts. I like that idea. I've always wanted to fly when I was younger."

"Don't…"

"I think just ceasing to exist is too depressing."

Sam squints her eyes shut as the headache from her recent actions reaches a new realm of agony.

"Whatever. When the time comes, I'll know. We'll know."

He carefully lays her head with the cloth against the ground.

"See you soon, Samantha."

* * *

It's hollow, that area in his chest. He needs something of hers to fill the space. He needs her, but that's not happening right now. Maybe a picture. Freddie scrolls through the pictures on his phone, opens one of her giving him that look. The one that says, _If you take that picture, you die._ So obviously he did, just to feel her touch when she tackled him to the floor and pummeled him with the buttersock. The way her hot breath fell onto his face, the odor her shampoo left in her hair, the way her hands pushed him into the wood. It all enveloped him in some sort of a magical existence.

The tears are flowing freely. They're inhibiting his ability to keep walking, to keep moving…to keep doing the very thing that lets him feel as though he's helping her._ Sam, I'm trying. Sam, I—I need you so much…_

It's ringing. It feels too early.

He holds his breath for a couple seconds when he answers it. Carbon dioxide floods from his mouth and he whispers, "What do you want?"

"Are you in a library or something? Come on, Freddie. You have to start trying harder to find your friend."

"No."

"You're not going to try harder?"

Freddie loses it. "NO! I'M NOT IN A STUPID LIBRARY!"

"Well I'd hope not. Those librarian ladies would be killing you right about now."

He sighs and tugs at his hair. "Could I talk to her?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I know it's against your idiotic plan or timing or whatever, but I need to speak to Sam. _Now_."

"Oh Freddie," the voice sighs. "When are you ever going to learn?"

He just cries.

"I don't think that'll put you in good spirits, my friend. I need to pay more attention to her. She keeps trying to kill herself."

Freddie can't breathe.

"She absolutely _hates_ it when I try to help her. She keeps telling me to kill her and how—"

"STOP! STOP IT! I GET IT!" Freddie screams. He hears a shuffling sound as a small animal nearby runs away in terror.

"You're going to damage my hearing, Freddie. You're more dangerous than a nuclear bomb for goodness sake."

"Remember that when I get my hands around your throat," he growls.

The voice sighs. "I always knew that you had that dark side in you, that you aren't completely a goody two-shoes. You've got character. Congratulations."

"I don't really see the point to these conversations anymore."

"They keep you on your toes, don't they? They make things interesting. They're nice reminders. And it's nice to check in with you along this whole process."

"So what happens in the end, huh?" Freddie asks. "Are you just going to kill her? Are you just going to kill _me_? What's this _process_ leading up to?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" the voice tisks. "You have _got_ to learn to like surprises. You sure seem to enjoy surprising _other_ people."

His breath hitches. "Did I do that to you? Did I hurt you? I'm really sorry, I—"

"No, no you're not. And I'm done speaking about this."

"No, wait—"

5:32 AM

"You have eleven hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**If I get a lot of reviews again, I'll make the future chapters longer. Reviews honestly make this whole writing thing work for me…encouragement, feedback, and all that cliché stuff. You're all amazing beings: 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'TheRockAngel', 'ILuvThisStory', 'SeddieFan99', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'irishfan62', 'lightingskies', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'johnp1299', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'Seddieforlife', 'lauren', 'Kenzie Kenz 3', 'troyella2468' (x3), 'ChicagoBears', 'Ashton', 'green aura', 'Channylover08', 'hejk12345', 'akarandomfang', and 'SeddieWeasley'. **

'**ILuvThisStory' – yeah…it was hard to write that last chap. Thanks so much! And great song…she's a tough girl.**

'**lightingskies' – thank you very very VERY much! You've no idea how much that means to me!**

'**lauren' – thank youuuuuu! Reading things like that never get old :)**

'**Kenzie Kenz 3' – yep! Halfway done! Never ever stop squealing! I hope my writing always gets people on the edge like that =]**

'**Ashton' – hey, I really appreciate that! I always try to post new chapters every Saturday.**


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Hour Fourteen

**Alrighty. I asked and I received! Thanks so much for all the feedback on the last chapter! If you keep it up…I don't know what I'll do but I'll have to do SOMETHING!**

**SORRY about the technical difficulties; I appreciate the patience.**

**And you guys are making it really hard to be humble…200 REVIEWS HAS BEEN SURPASSED! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthan kyou—**

**Chapter Fourteen: Hour Fourteen**

* * *

5:33 AM

_When the time comes, I'll know. We'll know._

The area on Sam's face that his breath had landed on is still burning, the fire not weakening one bit. The ashes feel excessively revolting, like an infinite number of showers couldn't remove its grime. Her entire body is shaking with cold and fear and unbearable pain, and the fact that his skin has touched hers makes everything feel vile.

_See you soon, Samantha._

There's no use into trying to unhear it or make it not true. It happened and it will happen again. She wants to die. Even if there is no heaven or afterlife, having a nonexistent essence for the length of eternity seems to be the perfect remedy. She doesn't want to feel anymore.

But she's been through this before. Sam keeps thinking about ending her life and not being there to witness it all end. She wonders if she's hit the point of insanity, the point where she can only focus on a few select things and repeat them over and over and over and ov—

The light is back.

All she wants right now besides death is to be left alone to wallow in her own misery. She, Samantha Puckett, the strongest and most independent and kick-butt person she thought existed, has been raped. _Raped_. Robbed of whatever child inside her was left. She was raped and paralyzed and left to…survive.

The light is gone, but he is not.

"I told you we'd see each other soon," his voice hisses. "How are you, Samantha?"

Silence suffocates her.

"How are you, Samantha?" His voice is harsher and emphasizes each word forcefully.

"Fine."

"Good." She hears shuffling. "How are your suicidal thoughts?" A strand of her sweaty and blood-stained hair is picked up and twirled around a finger. The venom from his skin drips down and seeps into her skull, poisoning her. "Are their frequency and severity decreasing?"

She swallows and lets out a tear. "Yes," she whispers.

"Excellent." He sounds like a demented psychiatrist, making sure her recovery is on track and she is following his orders.

Sam's stomach growls, and she wishes that she could die of starvation at that instant. It's never been the way she'd thought she would go, but change can be good.

* * *

_The banging comes from outside his door. Freddie doesn't think it's his, but it seems so close._

He remembers that night like it happened a few hours ago.

_Freddie gets to the door and peeks through the peephole. A flash of blonde hair dances in the hallway, and his chest gets tight. He turns the handle and swings the door open. "Sam? It's like two in the morning! How'd you get here?"_

_She whirls around, ignoring his question. "Where's Carly? I've been hitting this door for ages."_

_He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "When she and Spencer went to BF Wangs last night, Spencer somehow set his food on fire, and it somehow spread and almost burned the whole place down." Sam snorts and he hides a smile. "So I guess Carly's still at the police station trying to get them to let Spencer go."_

_She lets out a heavy sigh and mumbles, "Figures."_

"_So why are you here?"_

"_None of your business, Fredturd." _

_This time he rolls his eyes. "Seriously, how'd you get here? It's freezing outside!"_

_Her hands land on her hips. "Oh please, it's like in the forties or something; it's not that bad. I just walked." Freddie shakes his head, wondering why he's even the tiniest bit surprised. At least she has a jacket on. _

_Sam turns to leave, but he firmly holds her back by the shoulder. His hand is on fire._

"_I'm assuming there's a reason you're here this late. So I'm going to ask you again, why are—"_

"_God Benson, you're worse than my mother!" she interrupts._

_He gets it now. "Another fight?"_

_She shrugs._

"_What was it about?"_

_She scowls. "You know, I don't really feel like talking about it. Nosy."_

_His heart pummels with an emotion that he can't identify. "And you came here in the middle of the night to tell Carly about it instead of calling…why?"_

"_You're such a moron. Never mind. I'll see you later."_

_He grabs her by the forearm this time. "Sam…" He gets it again. "You need a place to crash for the night."_

_Sam shrugs. "She kicked me out. Whatever. It happens. Now let me go."_

"_I'm sure my mom wouldn't mind if—"_

_She bursts out laughing. Goosebumps sprout from his skin at the sound. "That's a good one," she says after a few seconds, still recovering from her hysterics. "I think I'll pass, Benson."_

"_Where are you going to go?"_

_She shrugs for what seems the umpteenth time. "I've slept on the bench in the park before. It's not that bad."_

_Freddie's eyes bug out. "You were out there alone in the dead of night? You could have been mugged or raped or killed or—"_

"_You've really got to hold off on those CSI shows." Her arms fold against her chest. "Stuff like that doesn't happen here. And besides, I'm indestructible."_

_He raises his voice. "Why is it _so_ hard for you to accept help? My God, you're stubborn!"_

_Sam is quiet for a second. She turns to leave. Again._

_Freddie grabs for her, again, and ends up getting her hand. He pulls her inside the apartment and shuts the door. She's looking at him, and he's about to ask why when the temperature of his left hand reminds him of her touch. He reluctantly lets her go._

"_This is stupid," she blurts, cutting off the awkward silence. "I don't have clothes. I was going to borrow something of Carly's."_

"_Well then you'll borrow something of mine."_

"_Galaxy Wars pajamas? No thanks."_

_He gives her a look. "I have normal clothes, you know."_

_She eyes his thin white T-shirt and grey flannel pants. "Whatever." Freddie disappears down the hall and comes back a minute later with a shirt like the one he's wearing and brown boxer shorts. His face is red._

"_Uh, my other pajama pants are in the wash…and I thought that these would be like shorts…and…uh…"_

_Her heart does a strange dance, but he would never know it. "Oh grow up. It's fine." She rips the material out of his hands._

"_You can change in my bathroom," he manages._

"_Whatever." Freddie's eyes follow her figure until she's out of his view. That girl is something else._

_He glances at the couch in the living room and sighs, deciding to get a pillow and a blanket from his bed. _

_Freddie is almost halfway across his room when he realizes the bathroom door isn't closed like he expected. He gets a glimpse of her skin interrupted by the black strap of her bra. He chokes on nothing, grateful for the fact that her back is toward him. She surely would have pummeled him to a pulp if— _

_The skin on her back is no longer interrupted by the black._

_Her fingers have unhooked the back and the straps are falling off her shoulders. The pit of his stomach is tied in knots; just seeing her bare skin sends adrenaline surging through his body. The curvature of her waist is mesmerizing; he's so close that he can see a few moles scattered across the beige expanse. _

_Freddie realizes what he's doing as his white shirt falls over her, and his knees feel weak as he does his best to quietly exit his room. He succeeds and lets his back rest against the wall. His face is hot and his hands are sweaty and he's sure she can hear the thud of his heartbeat. He tries to control the irregularities of his breathing and fails._

"_Yo."_

_This one word practically gives him a stroke. "Dude, calm down," she says, giving him a confused look. She has a blanket under her right arm. "You're such a wuss."_

"_Uh…uh huh." He mentally kicks himself for sounding so dumb. But God, she was perfect in those shorts of his._

_Sam's eyebrows are up high. "Alright…well, night Benson." She starts going to the living room._

"_W-where are you going?" He struggles to say._

"_Where do you _think_ I'm going?"_

"_Uh, no, I…I got the couch. You can sleep in my bed."_

_She stops walking and turns around. "Quit trying to be macho. We both know you're a girl. Go to bed."_

_Freddie knows that it's no use, but he still feels like he failed. She turns around again. "Uh, Benson?"_

"_Huh?" His head snaps up._

"_It was cool of you though to…uh…be macho and…everything…"_

_He knows what she's trying to say and gives her a nervous grin. "You're welcome."_

_She disappears._

Freddie remembers waking up the next morning and walking into the living room to find his clothes on the couch and Sam nowhere in sight. He missed her then, and he misses her now.

He can't help thinking about how much he's failing to be the man she needs him to be right now. Everything about her is etched in his mind, refusing to leave. If she dies, he'll struggle to both keep and remove her raw beauty from his memory for the rest of his life.

* * *

He's been talking to her for a long time; she can't remember a single word. Something about the neighborhood he grew up in, something about why he hated grade school.

A tear falls from her eye.

* * *

Two things keep nagging at him.

"_Are you in a library or something?"_

"_You're more dangerous than a nuclear bomb for goodness sake."_

Freddie thinks hard about it, struggling not to cry or get distracted by the memory of her smooth, beautiful skin…

_No_.

It takes a couple minutes, but a heavy feeling captures his chest. His phone rings as if on cue.

"This guy named Cal," he answers. "He made this nuclear-powered generator for one of our webshows and…long story short, he was on the ten most wanted list or something and these police dudes chased him at the Groovy Smoothie and I don't know if they ever caught him and—"

"Freddie," Mustache Man interrupts. "Where are you?"

He sputters. "Why does _that_ matter? Look this guy up!" They are both silent for a minute. Freddie hears clicking and beeping and a muffled voice.

"They haven't found him yet."

Cold grips his bones and paralyzes his muscles. "It's him," Freddie gets out. "It's got to be him."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am, alright?" Freddie yells. "Some stupid clue, I don't know!"

"Freddie, please come home!" his mother calls out. "I'm worried! Ticks and sharp objects are everywhere out there!"

He closes his eyes, and his back shudders as he lets out sobs. "Mom, I…I don't know what to do anymore…" He hiccups and cries and curls into a ball on the ground.

"Oh, Freddie-Bear…" she breathes. "I'm so sorry."

Freddie remembers the Galaxy War pajama days and how she'd read to him until he fell asleep. He remembers the nightlight that needed to be on or else the monsters would get him. He remembers not needing the light anymore.

"Come home, honey…"

He sniffles. "I don't know where I am…"

"That's okay, I just remembered I can just trace your location with the chip in your head! Just…stay where you are!"

_Click._

* * *

The figure is asking her a question, but all she can think about is how she's dirty and a whore and worthless.

"I _said_, have you even been listening?"

Sam is open and broken.

His thumb and middle finger close her nostrils, and his other palm seals her lips shut.

The natural instinct to survive takes over again, and for multiple seconds she's bucking and making the pain worse and running out of air faster. And then as she starts to get dizzy, she settles and tells herself to ignore the panic in her chest. This is what she wants. All she had to do was shut up to earn it.

Her mouth and nose are unsealed.

Before Sam can stop herself, her lungs steal a long gulp of air. Then she cries about the missed opportunity for some peace. Her thoughts scream.

_Slut, slut, slut, slut, sl—_

"It's not time for that yet," he announces, patting her good shoulder. "But it was fun while it lasted."

* * *

The phone rings, and abandoning common sense, Freddie answers it without looking at the Caller ID.

"Where are you?"

"That's classified," the voice replies. Freddie pales and whispers, "Please make this short."

"How come? Are you busy?"

His fear and shock are destroyed by immense fury. "You know what you are? A pathetic _coward_. Instead of facing me in person, you're being a little baby and hiding behind your stupid voice-disguiser, _so_ afraid of getting caught. Well you know what, _CAL_? GAME _OVER_!" He shrieks. Silence reigns on the line.

Power physically lifts him off the ground, and he practically spits into the phone, "Yeah, that's right. I guess you didn't mean for _that_ clue to slip, _HUH_? You're so _stupid_; you certainly don't even _deserve_ to be on that ten most wanted list. And guess what? I WIN!"

Freddie wonders if Cal has hung up on him since the silence is so long. The voice suddenly growls, "The game isn't over until you find her. Dead or alive."

He freezes. _What did I just do?_

6:32 AM

"You have ten hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**I'll continue to lengthen the chapters if you do what you did last time! ;) THANKS TO 'Kezziexx', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'akg.517', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'irishfan62', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'ILuvThisStory', 'ChicagoBears', 'CrazyCandyScarletNinja', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'Lightingskies', 'twnklingsediestr', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'Guest', 'Kenzie Kenz', 'scribblesandriddles', 'TheRockAngel', 'green aura', 'dandelion138', 'akarandomfang', 'lauren', and 'miscellaneousmystery'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – gahhh I'm really glad to not have disappointed! Yeah, we're definitely seeing a different side of him. I hope they do! Thanks so much!**

'**Lightingskies' – thanks so much! Oh believe me, I continue to love hearing it!**

'**twnklingsediestr' – wow, thanks!**

'**Guest' – agreed…but honestly I hope you didn't actually mean that literally. Sorry, but I'm touchy on subjects like that…I hope you're okay…!**

'**lauren' – aw, that's the sweetest thing ever! You can expect to squeal every Saturday :) and thanks so much! **


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Hour Fifteen

**So…last week was interesting. With the tech difficulties and what happened last chapter…I bet a lot of you hate me right now :) but don't, because here is…**

**Chapter Fifteen: Hour Fifteen**

* * *

6:33 AM

Freddie numbly waits the ten minutes until a squad car pulls up, and his mother stumbles out and attacks him. He wants to return the affection but can't bring himself to do it. Mustache Man waits patiently in the driver's seat.

He doesn't say a word the entire way back and lets his mother ramble away about sharp objects on the streets and fruit allergies. Once they're all inside the apartment, he finds his voice.

"So, um..." Freddie's voice cracks and he clears his throat. "I confronted him about being Cal and I was right."

The detective's eyebrows shoot up. "He actually _admitted_ it?"

Freddie picks at the nail on his left pinky finger. "Well, he didn't say 'I am Cal', but he was uncomfortable when I brought it up." He glances up at Mustache Man's face. "Look, I know what I heard, alright?"

The man holds his hands up. "I didn't say anything. So I guess he's going to start leaving you clues as to where to find her now?"

He heartlessly shrugs. "I guess. I know who he is, so there's nothing else to really do except find her." So simple, yet so impossible.

"Did he say anything this time?"

"I don't think so." Freddie gets up. "Look, can I just have a moment of peace right now?" He doesn't wait for a response as he makes his way to his room and locks the door.

He bursts into tears.

* * *

"Hello again, Samantha." The door closes and the light disappears. "How are you doing?"

Sam doesn't know what comes over her or why she even cares about her situation anymore, but she just snaps. "Look, this whole Stockholm syndrome thing you're trying to pull off is pathetic. Go fall in a hole."

"Sweetie," his voice purrs. She gags and wants to cry. "It hurts me that you feel that way."

It suddenly dawns on her that if she can make him mad enough, he might just kill her. And then everything would just go away. Freddie's face flashes before her for a moment, and her heart plummets. _I'm sorry._

"You're such a wimp. You don't have the guts to even show me your face. What, is it so ugly that I'll die if I see it?"

"You're funny, Samantha." She can't detect any anger.

"I'm glad that Freddie or I ruined your life, but I can't imagine how much of a loser you already were beforehand." Even as the words come out of her mouth, she knows it's useless. She's at a loss for what to say now.

"Cute, Sammy." The hairs on her neck stand up. Sam flinches when sweaty fingers brush her cheek. She turns her head in the opposite direction, but his hand takes a firm hold of her face. "You know, you've always fascinated me." His mouth is so close to her nose that she can identify his last meal by the stench. His breath feels like poison from a gas chamber. It eats away at her inside and out.

She feels his other hand slip below her collarbone, and she screams at him to stop. The thoughts that are racing in her head now sprint for a nonexistent finish line. Sam finds her thoughts accusing her of being very despicable things that shouldn't be said out loud. She hears a soft _click_ but doesn't think anything of it at the time.

"Please…j-just stop…don't touch me…" she whimpers. His hand reaches the spot and she shrieks, sobbing and pleading for him to end her. "NO! PLEASE!"

There's an increase of pressure. "DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! _NO_!"

She hears another click as his hands lift off her skin. "I want to show you something, Samantha."

She just keeps crying.

Footsteps walk to the door, and as it swings open, the light highlights his silhouette and the shadow of a tall, shiny object. He drags it inside and closes the door.

"You know, I bet you're wondering why your stomach still burns." She swallows. "Or why I even made it burn in the first place."

"No, I-I wasn't."

He slithers around and sits next to her. "It's okay, you don't have to lie to me, darling." Sam feels so disgusting and worthless. But she doesn't get angry.

The beam of a flashlight shocks its way into the room. Its light is reflected by the object that he's brought in. A mirror.

Sam turns her head to look at him. He still lurks in the shadows, and she can't see his face.

Her eyes return to look in front of her. She regrets it immediately.

Sam sees herself, bruised and broken, bloody and battered, and she's _beyond_ repulsed. Thank God that Freddie hasn't seen her like this.

The lines branded into the skin of her stomach shine in the light of the mirror. She reads the four-letter word.

"NO!" she shrieks, closing her eyes and turning her face into the hard floor. She bawls her heart away, as if it was even still there.

"What?" he asks. Sam can hear his smile. "It's true, babe."

"No, no, no, _NO_…" she moans in between sobs. Death can't even erase this from her. She's done. She was done already, but this…this just made it worse, however possible.

The flashlight's beam clicks out of existence, and he drags the mirror away. "See you soon, Sammy girl," he says. She can't tell when the light from the doorway comes and goes. Sam's too busy trying to bury her eyes in the ground, rubbing the sight she's witnessed out of existence. It doesn't work.

* * *

Nothing is working. He's failing and she's suffering for it.

Freddie holds his breath as he smothers his wet face against his pillow. When his lungs are about to give out, he sits up and coughs his way back to normal. His eyes rest upon a picture of him, Sam, and Carly smiling at the camera, and it takes all he has not to slap it to the floor. Everything is falling apart.

How long has it been? Fourteen hours? No, fifteen.

Fifteen.

Freddie's heart kicks when he realizes that he'll get to talk to her this time. To hear her voice…to have her know that he's still there…

_Sam, please don't give up…_

He racks his mind for anything that he can say in their restricted amount of time to lift her spirits. He can tell her that he's making progress. He knows who's doing this to her.

He glances at the clock on his nightstand and is surprised by how much time has passed. It's time.

Freddie frantically rehearses what he's going to say to her. He tries to remember how much time he'll have. Thirty seconds? Twenty seconds?

Ten seconds?

It rings.

He smashes his finger against the answer button and practically yells into the phone. "Sam? Sam, it's me—"

"NO!" he hears her distant scream. "I'm not yours! Get away from me!"

Freddie wants to cry.

"You have twenty seconds, Samantha Puckett."

"Sam! Sam, are you there?" He inwardly begs her to respond. The last time she spoke to him…

"Yeah," she whispers.

"Sam, please listen to me. You can't give up yet. I'm making progress…I-I'm still looking for you, and I'll find you, I _swear_." He suddenly remembers. "It's Cal, Sam. The guy who built the nuclear thing for a webshow all those years ago."

"What?" her voice is soft.

"Cal, Sam. What's wrong?"

A few seconds pass. "But…his voice doesn't—"

"Time's up."

Freddie screams at him out of anger and out of fear since he can't hear Sam doing the same.

"Are you just scared that she'll confirm it, _Cal_?" Freddie spits.

"Who needs her confirmation? It doesn't matter. You're still a world away, Freddie."

He's so calm that Freddie wants to throw up.

"I thought you'd be doing more to find her."

"I'm doing _everything_," Freddie insists.

"Whatever. Have you eaten yet? Or slept? It's like 7:30, man."

Freddie rubs his forehead. _Thanks for reminding me_. "No. I'm fine. I'm _SO_ grateful for your concern, though."

"I'd love an early breakfast. But I don't really want breakfast food. That's too boring."

His teeth grind together. "Are you just going to tell me what kind of food you want so I can go to this place and find nothing useful?"

The voice laughs. "Oh, please. Everything I give you is useful. You have to trust me on that. But yeah, I am in the mood for some Asian."

Freddie becomes disoriented. "But…but BF Wangs is still open! Your clue is bogus!"

"Come on, Freddie. Everything I say is carefully thought out."

"Just don't hurt her anymore. That's all I want," Freddie whispers desperately.

"Me?" The voice sounds offended. "How could you think that? Sam's the one that insists on being all miserable and suicidal—"

"YEAH I GET IT!" he screams.

The voice sighs. "You really need to work on your phone manners, young man."

Freddie starts crying. Sam sounded so…broken. All hope was gone to her. He never wanted that to happen. She's everything to him. She can't give up. It might destroy him enough to do the same. The voice startles him out of his thoughts.

7:32 AM

"You have nine hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Who watches the show The Lying Game? If so…HE BETTER CHOOSE EMMA! I literally don't know HOW I'll get any work done in between now and Tuesday night because I'll be spazzing over the 2x07 promo.**

**And I know that this chapter is a little short and bad, but I had a crisis yesterday. It took all I had to get this out today. But BELIEVE ME, the next chapter will blow your mind.**

**Thanks to 'scoobyfanatic33', 'Seddieperfection' (x2), 'CrazyCandyScarletNinja' (x2), 'TheMamboLove', 'uh oh', 'akarandomfang', 'Seddieforlife', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'TheRockAngel', 'Kezziexx', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'hejk12345', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Kenzie Kenz', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'lauren', 'scribblesandriddles', 'green aura', 'SeddieWeasley', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'PinaySeddier', 'johnp1299', and 'Lightingskies'.**

'**Seddieperfection' – I know…but thank you so much! I'm glad you saw the episode though! And time well tell…**

'**uh oh' – heh me loves the screename **

'**ILuvThisStory' – hahaha I love you! Your review was awesome.**

'**lauren' – thanks so much!**

'**Lightingskies' – awww, really?! Yay! Thank you so much =]**


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Hour Sixteen

**If only my writing professor gave me comments like you guys do…that would make the class a WHOLE lot less stressful :) You're all so great.**

**Chapter Sixteen: Hour Sixteen**

* * *

7:33 AM

"Freddie?" Mustache Man bangs on the bedroom door. "Freddie, come on out. We need to go over the conversation you just had."

And so the next hour of hell begins. It'll just be like the others. Clues that lead to dead ends, tears, frustration, and anger. And no Sam.

So Freddie doesn't respond. Why should he? It'll just end up the same way. This is all pointless. They'll never find her, and he'll never be able to see her again. Alive.

"Freddie?"

He lets the back of his head rest against the wall as he sits on the floor. "What," he asks flatly.

"Come on, kid. Get out here."

Freddie drops his phone and presses his palms over his ears. "Make me."

"Let's _go_!" He can hear the irritation in the detective's voice. "It's not over yet. Get your sorry butt out here!"

Freddie is almost too tired and depressed to respond. "The clue is completely useless. Don't bother."

The door is knocked on again. "So, what, we just sit here and wait for him to call again while Sam's alone and scared?"

He shrugs, numb and hollow. "She's not alone."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a fifty-pound weight drops on his chest and tears escape through his tightly closed eyelids. _How could I say that?_

"Freddie," Mustache Man begins. Then he hears the sobs, hesitates, and slowly walks away from the door. Seeing that the man is returning to the living room alone, Mrs. Benson hops up and asks, "I'll get him."

He takes her by the arm and sits her back down. "He needs to be alone right now."

She tears her arm out of his grasp, offended. "I'm his _mother_. I know what he needs more than you ever will."

Mustache Man rubs his forehead. "Just…he'll be out in a minute, alright?"

Mrs. Benson grumbles her way into a sullen silence while the detective plays with technology and listens to the conversation between Freddie and…Cal. Why would this guy just flat-out tell Freddie where to look? This doesn't add up. But…there's no harm in just checking, right?

A red-eyed Freddie quietly enters the room as the recording goes, "_But…but BF Wangs is still open! Your clue is bogus!"_

"I'm right, aren't I?" Freddie sits on the arm of the couch. "It's too obvious."

Mustache Man voices his thoughts. "What's the harm in checking?"

He sighs heavily. "Wasting time."

The detective pauses the recording. "What else do you suggest we do until the next time he calls?"

It sounds like a challenge, and Freddie glares at the man. "You tell me! You're the one who saves lives, right? Or are you working for him? Are you really with the police? Maybe you're the leader of some gang, and these tech guys are your posse or—"

"Come on, Freddie," he interrupts. "You know that's ridiculous."

Freddie glances at his mother, and she nods. "I checked him out," she mouths.

Of course she did.

"Whatever. If you want to check, be my guest."

Mustache Man feels a little guilty. This poor kid is going through too much to handle. "I will, but I like your idea of making sure that there isn't anything else we can do. What other Asian restaurants do you guys go to?"

Freddie shakes his head. "I don't know! BF Wangs was always our place. When we would go out for something, it was always there or the Groovy Smoothie or Pini's or a pie shop or some random Inside-Out-Burger joint. If we went anywhere else, it wasn't that memorable. This guy would probably know that."

Mustache Man writes something down, but Freddie has no idea what he said that could _possibly_ be useful. "Are there any other Asian restaurants around here?"

Freddie shrugs. "I don't know."

The detective turns to one of the tech nerds and a chorus of "On it, boss" echoes throughout the apartment.

* * *

Cal? _Cal_?

It isn't their fault that he got caught, or sighted, or whatever! What motive does he have? Or maybe he thinks that it's their fault. They did have him on the show once. Maybe he somehow thinks that that led to…

She's heard the figure's real voice, but she can't remember what Cal's sounded like or what he even looked like. He was sort of young. Was he short? Dark hair…yeah, dark hair. His eyes were…some color…brown?

Sam rolls her eyes. That's useless; she can't even see this guy's face. Focus on the voice.

Huh. She can't seem to remember a thing. Sam absentmindedly starts to bring a hand to her head to scratch it, as she usually does when she's thinking hard about something (a rare occurrence), but her elbow protests. Violently.

"AAAAAHHHH—!"

Sam slams her mouth shut, forcing her throat to close and stop making noise. Tears flow freely, and she holds her breath, trying not to make a sound that might make him come back. After a minute that drags on for hours, the pain's extremity slightly decreases and she allows herself to breathe. _Stop it. Focus_.

Cal didn't have a really deep voice…it wasn't high either…it was just…a normal voice.

She almost screams out of frustration but stops herself at the last moment. _Don't be such a drama queen. Screaming and crying are for girly girls. You're a Puckett. Grow up._

Sam doesn't understand the point of thinking this way. There's no chance that this guy will let her go after all this is over…however long it'll take until he's done. She's not getting out. At least she won't have to face everyone's annoying sympathy. At least she won't have to think about how this man ra—

Her eyes close, and she sees Freddie.

Sam forces her eyes open, refusing to depress herself even further, but it's too late. She's reminded of his eyes, his smile, his existence. Her heart aches at the thought of never seeing him again.

_Well accept it, you baby._

And then her elbow decides to have a hissy fit, and it distracts her momentarily.

* * *

Freddie can remember when both Carly and his mother were sick that one day and he picked up Sam in his mother's car to drive to school. The entire time she made fun of him for driving such a lame car while he inwardly pretended he was taking her out to dinner. She wouldn't be in a dress because that's not her and he doesn't want that. She'd be wearing some worn jeans and an old top to a place not too fancy but nice enough so that she'd know how much he cared. She'd tell him that she was too lazy to put makeup on that night when she knew that he liked her better without it anyway. Sam would look at Freddie in the way he looked at her since…a long time.

Freddie was so deep into his fantasy that when he pulled into a parking space and got out, he went over to her side and opened the door for her. When she looked up from shoving a stream of papers into her bag, she snarled, "What are you, my butler?"

That's when he snapped out of it, blushed, apologized, and practically ran to the trunk to get his stuff.

Freddie's daydream of his daydream is interrupted when Mustache Man opens the door of the squad car's backseat. "Did you hear me? We're here."

So it ended up that there was nothing else to do but check out BF Wangs, and there they were. The sky has returned to its light blue hue, brutally reminding Freddie that it's morning. Already. And he still hasn't gotten closer to Sam.

"Let the team and me go in first," Mustache Man says. This time Freddie doesn't argue.

A few seconds later, he hears a couple of men swear and say, "What the _hell_?"

He runs inside, and almost says the same thing.

All of the chairs are on top of the tables except one. There is a man tied to it, mouth taped shut, and when he sees all of the police around him, he pointlessly struggles to free himself again. An officer picks up a Sticky-note attached to the man's chest that says:

_Dear Coppers,  
__You're Welcome._

The man is Cal.

Freddie wants to scream. He should have known that this guy wouldn't have let an obvious clue slip like that. He's such an _idiot_.

Fury takes over him, and Freddie marches right up to Cal and rips the duct tape off his mouth, enjoying the scream of pain that results.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"Ow! What? Freddie_ Benson_?"

He gets in Cal's face. "Where. Is. _SAM_!"

"What? I don't know! That's not my name! I'm…Cal's twin…Al!"

"Oh, shut up," Freddie spits.

"Okay, fine! But that guy is nuts! How did he track me down?" Officers remove the rope that's holding Cal's arms behind his back and replace it with handcuffs. Cal immediately squirms and protests. "No! Don't arrest me! I'm innocent! You guys should be looking for this psychotic moron who put me here!"

"What does he look like?" Freddie asks, hoping…just maybe…

"Let me go and maybe I'll tell you," Cal tries.

Freddie loses it and punches him square in the face.

"AAAHHH!" Cal screams. "Dude, that's assault! Or battery…or whatever! I'll sue you! You can't get away with that!" He desperately looks at the officer that is tightening the handcuffs. "He can't get away with that, can he? Just look at me! I'm bleeding, right?"

Mustache Man steps forward, eyes flashing. "Oh, he _will_ get away with it, and I'll make sure of it. Where's the girl?"

Cal's silent.

"WHO IS THIS GUY?" Freddie screams, cradling his throbbing hand.

Cal surrenders. "I don't know! He had some mask on! And something that disguised his voice!"

Freddie really wants to punch him again, but his hand advises him against it. Instead, he collapses on the floor and buries his face in his knees. The officers finish unbinding Cal's legs and drag him away into a car.

And then the phone rings, and he answers it, not knowing what else he can do.

"_Please…j-just stop…don't touch me…NO! PLEASE!"_

Freddie just cries.

"_DON'T TOUCH ME THERE! _NO!"

The recording stops, and the voice returns.

"Did you and your friends like my present? I worked really hard to get it for you."

"I'm sure they like it, but I couldn't care less," Freddie growls. "The only person's throat I want to get my hands around is yours."

"Ouch," the voice feigns hurt. "It took a lot of time and patience to get him. It was hard, but nothing too impossible."

"Just tell me. Is finding Sam impossible? Are you just wasting my time? Did you kill her?"

"Gee, Freddie. I'm offended that you think of me that way. Nothing in our situation is impossible."

He shakes his head, wondering why he even bothered to ask. "Let me guess: that's another one of your lies."

The distorted voice sighs. "Well if you're not going to play nicely, I just have one thing left to say to you."

"I wonder what it is," Freddie sarcastically says, struggling to hold back tears.

8:32 AM

"You have eight hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**You guys are da best! 'nadene-seddiefan', 'CrazyCandyScarletNinja', 'irishfan62', 'twnklingsediestr', 'hejk12345', 'TheRockAngel', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'SeddieFan99', 'Kezziexx', 'PinaySeddier', 'johnp1299', 'Kenzie Kenz', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'ILuvThisStory', 'akarandomfang', 'lauren', 'Seddieforlife', 'scribblesandriddles', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'Julziexx3', 'lightingskies', and 'seddiewarrior31'.**

'**twnklingsediestr' – oh it's totally fine, computers and I have had a long history of…a nasty relationship. Hahaha evil twin brother…nice. **

'**ILuvThisStory' – yes you did! And I'll say that that isn't the word :) it will indeed (or hopefully did) blow your mind. But it should still function. I'm good now, thanks!**

'**lauren' – yay! That's a good thing :) thank you!**

'**lightingskies' – oh no! I hope you weren't in a lot of trouble. But thanks!**


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Hour Seventeen

**I'm really sorry, but when you're vomiting water, you don't really have any creative moments.**

**Also, CHECK MY PROFILE FOR UPDATES ON MY UPDATES AND DATES. Especially if you don't have a FF account, because then I can't communicate with you and say, "yeah, the stomach flu is an effective but tortuous way to lose weight."**

**Chapter Seventeen: Hour Seventeen**

* * *

8:33 AM

The door opens, so Sam closes her eyes and waits for the light to go away. Her elbow is still killing her.

He comes over and sits next to her. She senses that she's supposed to say something first.

"You haven't been here in a while."

"How long?" he asks.

"Hours." She scowls. "Or maybe five minutes. Time sure passes when you're in pain."

"I apologize."

She lets out a sound that should have been a snort but sounds like a moan.

"Why am I not dead?"

"Pardon?"

He sounds so calm and…proper. "You know, not alive? You've literally broken everything in me."

She hears a shuffle and feels the heat from his body get closer. "I've done my research. I wouldn't be that cruel."

Sam's eyes flash, or they may have. In this darkness, nothing's ever for sure.

"Yeah, you're nice enough to figure out the worst forms of torture and then prevent me from not going through the pain. Thanks. I appreciate it." Her elbow suddenly feels heavy and seems to bend even further. She can't help but scream and cry. How humiliating.

This time, though, he doesn't say anything. He patiently waits for multiple minutes until she's gotten a hold of herself.

She sniffles and he just sits there. She takes deep breaths and he moves closer.

Sam's terrified.

"U-uh…what should I, uh, call you?" Her front teeth chomp on her bottom lip.

"I've always wanted a nickname," his voice echoes throughout the room. "Not sure. Maybe Freddie."

She's frozen.

Several seconds run away. "W-what?" Sam whispers.

"Well, he's the reason you're here in the first place. He's hurting you, not me."

"No," she whimpers. "You're lying."

"Oh come on, Sammy." She gags. "Hurting someone is one thing, but hurting someone they…well, you know…is something entirely different."

"Your stupid plan to get me to turn against him isn't going to work."

"What plan?" he replies. "I'm just telling you something you want to know."

She won't be that naïve. She refuses to believe anything else that comes out of his mouth.

"Yeah, well in my opinion physical pain is a whole heck of a lot worse than…emotional pain or whatever you call it."

"Well, I think you have a biased opinion at the moment, hun."

"Stop calling me those _disgusting_ names. And no. It's a scientific fact, idiot. So you're lying. It's me that you wanted all along. This has nothing to do with Freddie."

The more she says it, the more she starts to believe it.

"Nothing to do with him," she whispers again.

"I'll see you soon."

The figure leaves, and when the blue spots fade out of her vision, she sighs, but it ends up being a sob.

"Hey, what gives, Princess Puckett?"

Her head whips to the right before she can stop herself. She cries out when the cut on her neck stretches and rips. "Oh perfect. Now I'm hearing things. This is just fantastic."

Silence answers her.

"And now I'm talking to myself."

"I do it all the time."

She flinches, but prevents herself from moving her head at the last moment. _Okay. Now I'm crazy._ _It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess._

"You're not crazy, Sam."

A tear slides down her face. _Stop talking to me, you stupid imagination, _she prays.

"Sam?"

She sighs.

_What's the harm?_

"Hi, Freddie."

"Huh. That's interesting."

She hesitates, but then thinks, _Oh, what the heck?_ and says, "What is?"

"You called me by my actual name."

Sam is glad that she can't see him. That would just be too painful.

"Yeah, well…" Her voice catches, and she starts crying. "Things are different now."

Her hallucination seems to come closer. "What's wrong? You never cry."

"Yes I d-do…" she sobs. "I-I'm not s-strong, Freddie."

"Ssssh," he breathes. "Calm down. I'm here. You're safe."

She lets out a small yell. "But you're _not_! And _I'm_ not!"

"I'll always be here, Sam."

She's never cried this hard before. She's finding it hard to breathe. "S-st-stop…"

"I'm right here."

Sam manages a large gulp of bittersweet oxygen. "Please, you're making me feel worse."

"Why?"

"Because you're not here. I…I need you here. But you're…_not_."

"Why do you need me here?"

Her heart is breaking her ribs, and she shakes her head as much as her wound will allow. She can't answer him. She just can't.

"You probably think this is your fault."

He sighs. "No, no I don't."

"YES YOU _DO_!" she screams. "I _KNOW_ YOU!"

"Ssssh, calm down Sam."

She cries instead.

"Sam…"

She feels him fading away. "Wait, don't go."

"Sam…"

"NO! Please!"

Nothing.

"_Please_…" she whispers. And after a minute of the screaming silence, she cries all over again because she just talked to the darkness.

He'll never be there.

* * *

_I wish I could just talk to her._

He can't think about anything else. He can't think about the voice, or Mustache Man, or his mother, or even what the future has in store for them. He just needs to hear her, to tell her that he'll find her, that she'll be home soon, that…

That.

His heart aches.

Freddie is tired. Tears have made it worse, threatening to glue his eyes shut for the rest of eternity. He's gone over all of the phone conversations over and over again in his head. All of the words, all of the letters just keep scrambling together and forming nonsense that he can't get rid of. He can fix parts of a computer that no one else can pronounce, but he can't fix this. He can't find Sam. And she's the kind of girl who makes her presence known to _everyone_. And…he's crazy about that. It's part of what makes her…her.

And here he is, shriveling up inside, burying his face into the soft sheets of his bed. Doing nothing, because nothing can be done. This guy will make sure of that until it's too late.

Freddie hates giving up. He hates the fact that she's suffering and he's not there and she probably hates him for getting her into this. He hates the fact that this demon somehow tracked down one of America's most wanted when no one else could for _years_. He hates how this should all be so simple but it just _isn't_.

He doesn't want to hear that she's dead. He doesn't want to hear the voice telling him that his time is ticking. He doesn't want to hear Mustache Man's ideas, or his mother's empty condolences, or Carly's frantic voicemails.

He doesn't want to see a body bag. He'd rather be six feet underground.

It's a constant gamble. The voice can take her away from him anytime he wants. Maybe the worst thing that can be done is taking her away from him before the time is up. To surprise him. To make sure that he knew—

"Freddie?" Mrs. Benson whispers, head peeking through the doorway.

He's too depressed to tell her to go away.

"I'm so sorry, honey."

"_Are_ you?" he suddenly blurts, sitting up.

"Excuse me?"

"You've always hated her!" he yells, tears flooding his eyes. "Don't even _try_ to deny it!"

Mrs. Benson sighs. "I won't." She cautiously sits on a corner of the bed. "But I'm not _that_ cruel. _N__o_ one deserves this. And I can see how much you care about her."

He just hiccups, head in his hands.

"I'm so sorry, Freddie Bear. If I could change this—"

"Yeah, well, you can't," he interrupts.

She's hurt. "I know."

She expects him to push her away, but she does it anyway. Her hand lands on his knee.

He bursts into tears and collapses into her arms.

Mrs. Benson rocks her son back and forth, hugging him to her chest and trying to pull him even closer, just like she did all those years ago. He would have those nightmares about his father and then come crying to her and whimper "mommy" over and over again, just like he is now.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I know, I know…it's okay to cry…"

Freddie believes her, so he does. He cries. He tries to pretend that it's Sam holding him, but it's his mom, and nothing is going to change that.

* * *

"Freddie, what do I do about this pain?" Sam says quietly.

When she doesn't hear anything in return, her teeth grind against each other. "Hey, I'm the one imagining you, so you better talk to me when I _want_ you to talk to me!"

It sounds like a threat in one of their old fights, and when he doesn't respond, she breaks down all over again. All control has been lost.

* * *

It's the phone, and he doesn't want to answer it. Before Freddie can stop her, his mother presses the Answer button and screeches, "Whoever you are, punk, I've got a sword in this house and don't think I won't use it!"

There's silence on the other line.

"Answer me!" Her grip on the phone is so tight that Freddie thinks she might actually break it. He gently pries it from her fingers. Mustache Man quietly joins them in the bedroom.

"Are you there?" Freddie asks flatly.

"I am now, Freddie."

Mrs. Benson opens her mouth, but Freddie holds his free hand over it, silently warning her.

"Your mother…she sounds…pleasant."

His mother's lips move against his skin, so he firmly presses against her mouth. "She is."

"When all this is over, maybe I can take her out to dinner sometime."

Mustache Man's eyes widen, and he and Freddie have to physically restrain Mrs. Benson from having a freak attack. The detective ends up having to drag her out of the room, one hand clamped over her mouth.

"I hear a lot of shuffling," the voice comments.

"I'm sure you do."

"Did your house burst into flames?"

"No. But I'd like to light _you_ on fire. I'd watch you die. Slowly, painfully."

"Dark."

Freddie is silent.

"Well, we don't have a lot more time to talk, so anything else on your mind, Freddie?"

He swallows, prepared to go off on a rant about yeah, he does have something on his mind. And yeah, he does have something to say. He will watch the voice die. He'll be the one to kill him and stare into his eyes and call him a coward. And yeah, he does have something else to say. He loves her. Freddie loves Sam, and _nothing_ that the voice could do would _ever_ change that. Hell, he would _marry_ that girl. He would take a bullet, an ax, a bomb, _anything_ for her. He wants her to be _his_.

But nothing comes out.

"Okay then," the voice sings. "Back to business."

9:32 AM

"You have seven hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**CHECK MY PROFILE LATER FOR THE DATE OF THE NEXT CHAPTER. I'll be traveling for my spring break, so I'm not sure if and when I'll update next week. Maybe if you all scream at me enough, I will. Heh. Please don't stalk me.**

**Thanks for all the reviews last chapter! I really don't deserve it since I didn't update last week! 'irishfan62', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'Kezziexx', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'seddie perfection', 'kikiara22', 'ILuvThisStory', 'SeddieFan99', 'Guest', 'EllyWrites', 'twnklingsediestr', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'lightingskies', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'Kenzie Kenz', 'TheRockAngel', 'akarandomfang', 'scribblesandriddles', 'Stephs', 'Guest', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'Lauren', 'johnp1299', 'green aura', 'rocketgrrl', 'Guest', 'PerfectlyImperfect2', and 'Nkcandygirl'.**

'**kikiara22' – thanks so much! Love your screenname**

'**ILuvThisStory' – hahaha that's a funny thought. Thanks so much, and really sorry I didn't update last week! Stupid...body :/**

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'**Stephs' – thank you thank you thank you! Haha :)**

'**Guest' [#2] – hahaha I never thought of that! That's interesting. Thanks!**

'**Lauren' – really?! Thank you so much! Sorry for not updating…I hope you didn't die in suspense and disappointment :/**

'**Guest' [#3] – sorry, I'm so sorry! I had the stomach flu and it was AWFUL. Thank you for sticking with the story though! I really appreciate it!**


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Hour Eighteen

**Alright, so even though I'm in my favorite place in the world on break, and admittedly sunburned a bit, I sucked it up and wrote another chap for you all.**

**Chapter Eighteen: Hour Eighteen**

* * *

9:33 AM

"_Sam, since when do you _run_?"_

_Fudge. _

"_Freddie, since when do _you_ run?"_

"_Seriously, answer the question."_

_She's getting tired, but she'll never let him know. "I don't like distractions when I'm running. Beat it, nub."_

_She sprints ahead about ten feet and then slows back down to a jog. And then that stupid boy catches right back up to her. He doesn't even sound the least bit out of breath. "My gym membership expired a couple months ago and it's too expensive to renew it. So I run now."_

_She takes a long, silent breath and keeps going, hoping he'll just leave. But since he's Freddie and the…bane…of her existence, he doesn't._

"_Your turn."_

_Sam tries to laugh but it comes out as a shuddering gasp. "You went to a _gym_?" she tries._

"_Sam…"_

_Trying to outrun him is pointless, and she considers stopping. But she will NOT give the dork the satisfaction of beating her, so she pushes herself to go just a little faster. "Look, if you _must_ know, like you have to for _everything_ pretty much, being the idiotic nub that you are—"_

"_Sam!"_

_She rolls her eyes, even though she doesn't think he's looking at her. "You can't expect _anyone_ to eat like I do…" She pauses for a breath. "…and not be five thousand pounds without doing _something_ once in a while." _

"_How often is once in a while?"_

_Like she'd EVER tell him THAT. He'd think she was some weight freak like all of those other moronic teenage girls._

"_What are you, my doctor? My cholesterol levels are fine, sir." Her oxygen levels aren't, though. It takes all Sam has not to gasp her next breath. _Just keep running…keep going…

_Freddie sighs. "You're impossible. Whatever, I think it's awesome that—"_

"_Okay, thanks cheesy," she sarcastically interrupts, chest burning. "Now beat it."_

_He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, but out of her peripherals, she can still see him beside her. Man, he must have some stamina. She's been going for half an hour now, so she's about to—_

"_I don't know, I was thinking, uh, maybe we could run together sometime."_

_Finally, an excuse to stop running!_

_She pretends to burst into laughter, pausing and resting her hands on her knees, bent over. Then after she pretended to catch her breath, she says, "Oh please." Her heart is pounding, but she's not sure if it's from exhaustion. "I'd kick your wimpy butt from here to Chicago."_

"_Is that a challenge?" The smirk on his face is annoying as hell._

"_Why won't you just leave me alone?" she yells._

_His face turns a shade redder, and his eyes look down. "Sorry, uh…sorry."_

_Screw him for making her feel guilty. "Whatever. If you want to die together, be my guest."_

_He looks at her, alarmed. "What?"_

_She thinks about what she just said and blushes, hoping that the sweat on her face is making it blend in. "Grow up, Benson. Run together. You die when you run. It's witty. You don't know me by now? I seriously have to explain everyth—"_

"_Okay," he blurts._

_She blinks. "Huh?"_

"_Let's run. Uh, together. Sometime."_

_Sam does her best to shrug half-heartedly. "Whatever. I'm busy for the next few weeks, so maybe next month."_

"_Uh, okay."_

_They just stand there for a moment in silence. "So…" Freddie says awkwardly._

"_Bye Benson," Sam says, forcing herself to sprint away as fast as she can, not letting him tag along for some random reason. And he doesn't._

Pfft, busy for the next few months,_ Sam thinks. _Busy training my butt off so I can shove my victory in his face!

That was a week ago.

Sam starts crying again.

* * *

"Mom, calm down! I'm not even talking to him anymore!"

She's actually seething. "He thinks he can take _me_ out to dinner? The nerve! The utter _GALL_!"

Freddie rolls his eyes and shakes her shoulders. "Mom, he's just messing with you."

"I haven't dated in a while and _sure_ don't plan on—"

"MOM!"

"Okay, fine," she grumbles.

"So what do we do now?" Freddie asks, tired.

Mustache Man speaks up after a while of silence. "Uh…want to go through the call?"

* * *

"You're back."

"Yep!" She hears him sit next to her. "Miss me?"

She bites the inside of her mouth. "Yeah. It gets really lonely in here." _Just let him think you're falling for that Stockholm thing._

"If I didn't have work to do, I'd spend more time with you."

"What work?"

"Classified, Darling."

"That's a shame," she says through gritted teeth.

"Well, I guess I can let you in on a little of my work. Do you want that?"

Her heart thuds. "Sure," she cautiously says.

And then she's screaming.

Her injured ankle is in his hands. "I do things like this, like twisting and stuff." She can barely hear him, but definitely notices when he moves on to that elbow. It seems like it's his favorite limb of hers. "Those are my small jobs. I have major projects too. They don't involve just twisting…" Sam feels bones scrape against each other and yells in agony. "There's also pulling…" She cries. "…and flexing…" She bawls. "…and pushing…" She can't breathe.

He let's go. "And other stuff like that." He waits silently for at least two minutes while she sobs continuously. When she's still going, he sighs. "You're giving me a headache, Samantha."

She sniffles and forces her brain not to register the majority of the pain. "S-s-sorry."

"Quite alright. But we have to work on your speech skills as well. We can't have stuttering."

But it's not alright. He acts like this hell of a hell is an everyday occurrence, like he doesn't even know what pain is or feels like. She wants to break his nose, kick him where men shouldn't be kicked, _anything_. She can't. She wants to cry and scream and punch the ground. She can't.

Instead, she breathes. In and out. In, out, in…

"So you have a job, right?" she manages.

"Indeed."

"So who's your boss?"

Silence.

Her heart skips a beat. "Come on," she urges. "You can tell me. Every employee has an employer."

He clears his throat for a little too long. "Well, not if you're the employer."

"You can't be an employer without employees. And I haven't met any of your minions."

"Well, maybe I'm self-employed."

"Oh please, you're almost as bad of a liar as—"

"As who?"

A tear escapes her eye, but he can't see it. "Uh…my mother."

"I see." His tone is knowing and amused.

She doesn't say a word.

"Well, this has been fun, girlie. See you very soon, and with a present."

He leaves and she's free to bawl her soul out.

* * *

"Nothing. NOTHING!" Freddie shoves the empty tea cups off the living room coffee table. Stupid decorations, stupid situation, stupid…life. "Nothing makes any sense! Nothing stands out, nothing…NOTHING!"

"Okay, calm down. We can go through the tape as many times as—"

"SHUT UP!"

"Fredward Benson!" his mother shrieks.

"I don't _care_! Being polite isn't a huge concern to me right now!"

"It's fine, ma'am," the detective tries.

"AND I DON'T NEED YOUR FLIPPING PERMISSION!"

So to prove his point further, he storms into his room and slams the door behind him.

* * *

Sam has always loved to sing even though she knows Carly is better at it. She just does it alone so she can't be compared to her. Yes, she is one of those girls who sings in the shower.

She likes to close the door. For some reason, the shower stall echoes the resonances of her voice, making it sound ten times better than it actually does.

Sam doesn't know why she's thinking about this. Now, of _all_ times and places. All she knows is that she doesn't know if she'll ever sing again.

_Just give me a reason; just a little bit's enough._

Why is she here? Why is this happening to her? Why does she have to feel this way? So abandoned, unloved, alone, let _alone_ the physical agony. She didn't do anything _that_ horrible to deserve this. Sure, she can be that demon Freddie calls her, but—

Freddie.

_Screw you, Freddie. SCREW YOU!_

The door opens, and the light blinds her. Something cold slams against her ear and a distorted voice whispers, "You have ten seconds, Samantha Puckett."

"Sam! I'll find you, I swear I will…"

_Screw you, Freddie. Screw you and your empty promises. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of being tired._

She blinks and takes a breath. "Look, I don't think this guy is working alone. I think maybe someone is telling him to d—"

"Time's up."

She can hear Freddie screaming her name but is too exhausted to do anything else. All she wants is sleep. Sleep for a long, long time.

* * *

"If you touch her, I—"

"Look, your stupid threats are…stupid. What I have to say involves actual substance. This is your third lesson, Freddie: Don't climb a tree to escape a mountain lion."

"What the…that doesn't even make sense!"

"Sure, it must be tricky for you. Don't strain yourself."

Freddie cries when he hears the banging on his bedroom door. "Just…just don't hurt her anymore. I think she's gone through all she possibly can."

"Let me be the judge of that." Even with the voice disguiser, Freddie can hear an odd tone to the voice. "Because then I'll always win."

10:32 AM

"You have six hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Sorry my profile was untouched this week, but I haven't really had any Internet. But I swear in the future if you check it, there will be important dates/updates on there.**

**Thanks to 'TheRockAngel', Seddieforlife', 'irishfan62', 'akarandomfang', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'SeddieFan99', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Nkcandygirl', 'lightingskies', 'twnklingsediestr', 'seddie perfection', 'Irene113', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'lauren', 'scribblesandriddles', 'ILuvThisStory', 'green aura', and 'rimdsloveseddie'.**

'**lightingskies' – aw, thanks! Maybe if more…a LOT more…people knew about this, it would, hahahaha. And I'm totally better. Stomach flus last for like three days. Otherwise, it would probably be fatal, heh.**

'**twnklingsediestr' – maybe! Aw, I've found a medical cure for headaches! Where's my payment? Haha, thanks!**

'**Irene113' – wow, thanks! It means so much!**

'**lauren' – oh definitely! It was a 3-day thing. And again….THANK YOU!**

'**ILuvThisStory' – absolutely 100% healthy! 3 days of torture is over. Fire, huh? Interesting indeed. Thanks for all your reactions! :)**


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Hour Nineteen

**I don't really have anything to say. Except I don't want to be back at college. CA was fun.**

**Chapter Nineteen: Hour Nineteen**

* * *

10:33 AM

"Don't climb…climb…improvement? Better grades…better…better what?"

Freddie mutters to himself as he writes _Don't climb a tree to escape a mountain lion_ on a piece of paper abandoned on his desk. He feels like Russell Crowe from that movie _A Beautiful Mind_ as he circles different parts of the lesson and diagrams possible meanings.

"Tree…growing? Strong base? What the heck does that mean?" He pinches the skin above his upper lip and keeps whispering. "Mountain lion…lion…did we meet someone at a zoo? King of the jungle, right? Is this guy royalty or something?"

He looks up from the smeared print and announces to himself, "This is ridiculous. I'm getting absolutely nowhere."

A knock on the door. "Freddie?"

"Hold on, I'm trying to figure this out." _And trying to be alone._

"Can I come in?"

_Can't you take a hint?_

"Uh, could you just get me the thing that recorded my conversations? I'd like to work on this alone."

"I…I guess."

After another few seconds of getting nowhere with his third lesson, Freddie gets up, unlocks his bedroom door, and waits for the next knock. A device and a hand peek through when he opens the door. "Do you w—"

The hand quickly withdraws from the closing door when Freddie snatches the thing from Mustache Man's hands and says, "Thanks, can't talk." He hears an irritated grunt and fading footsteps.

Freddie rushes over to his desk and rewinds the device for a few seconds.

"…_actual substance. This is…"_

He goes back a little more, pencil ready.

"_Look, your stupid threats are…stupid."_

Pause.

Freddie writes down the word "stupid," sighs, and presses play.

"_What I have to say involves actual substance."_

Pause.

And so he keeps going until he has a list that looks like

_stupid  
__substance  
__tricky  
__strain  
__judge  
__always win.__  
_

At first, nothing stands out. Then a weird, heavy feeling comes over him. "What?" he yells at himself. "What, stupid biology? What is it?"

He rewinds the tape again, but stops at the beginning of the previous hour's conversation. Freddie's next list reads

_pleasant  
__dinner  
__shuffling  
__house  
__burst  
__flames  
__dark  
__business.__  
_

He feels as though he's going psychotic as he attempts to circle words and form groups and lightly cross out others. Nothing is happening. Freddie tries making sentences out of the words and figuring out if there's a code with the letters. Nothing.

He runs his hand through his hair and rubs his eyes. _Focus. You don't have much time. Get yourself together._

Freddie knows that he's told himself this many times in the past however many hours, and he never gets anywhere.

Another knock on the door. "Uh, Freddie? Maybe it would help to review significant web…shows…casts, whatever you call it. Maybe public humiliation played a role."

Freddie is caught off guard. "Huh. Nice…work, Mustache Man."

"Huh?"

He slaps a hand over his mouth and speaks through the spaces between his fingers. "Nothing! Thanks for the tip."

* * *

"You know I've pretty much told Freddie who I am and where we are."

She closes her eyes even though it makes no difference for her vision. "'Pretty much?'"

"You know, he's smart. Brilliant. Valedictorian of his class, right?"

Her heart pounds. _How could he know that?_

"Moving speech, by the way."

"Y-you didn't answer my question." The goosebumps come back; Sam remembers that her hair isn't fully dry from the time he almost drowned her. She wonders why she just notices it now.

"Oh, right. Thank you, Samantha. He's smart, so he can figure out anything. I've given him reasons and lessons and clues and have even said…certain identifying words…but it's like he isn't even trying."

* * *

Freddie has separated the words into groups of items related to food, actions, adjectives, formal-sounding words…

How on _Earth_ had he passed that logic unit in his philosophy class?

He takes another deep breath, trying to clear his swimming brain. "Okay, those groups don't work. Think of something else. _Think_."

_Maybe public humiliation played a role._

Who have been embarrassed on the show?

The number of immediate responses he comes up with makes him want to cry. There was that random Chinese food delivery guy. Nevel, but he's supposed to be in custody right now. Jonah, but ditto. Spencer, since his sophisticated date was ruined. But he's on an island in the middle of the Pacific. Who else?

Mandy Valdez? Ricky Flame? Nora Der—

_Hold on. Flame_?

Words fall into place.

* * *

"_Finally_, he's gone. I thought he'd never leave."

_No, no…_

"Go away, Freddie."

She senses his presence and tries to convince herself of her insanity, but he's still there.

"Why? I thought you'd might like some _real_ human contact after _him_."

Her throat is dry. "You promised me, Freddie."

"What?"

"You KNOW what!" Sam's crying again. "You promised me you'd find me and get me out of here and that I'd be okay, but…b-but—"

"Sssh, it's okay."

"STOP IT!" she screams. "I'm NOT okay! I'm…broken! I'm hungry and thirsty and tired…I want to _die_! Don't you get it? I want to die! I need to! I _have_ to!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sam."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"You'll be back to eating five one-pound meatballs in under ten minutes before you know it."

The tears are like waterfalls. "HE _RAPED_ ME!" The rest of her words are incomprehensible, shattered by sobs and gasps and hysteria. Salt glues to her eyelashes, snot drips from her nose, and saliva leaks from her puffed lips. He just sits there and watches her fall apart: uncaring, unmoving, emotionless. He doesn't say it, but she can feel the words radiating from his body.

"Slut…whore…ugly…disgusting…"

Sam feels him trace the four letters engraved on her stomach. "You know it's true."

"B-but I'm not."

"It is."

"I never will be!"

"You already are."

She's been reduced to a whisper. "I thought you knew me better than that. I thought…I thought…"

"Spit it out, Puckett," he snarls.

"Please go away." She wants to curl into a ball, but that's obviously impossible.

"Why would I?"

Sam sniffles like a little girl who's been denied that extra scoop of ice cream. "You're scaring me. The Freddie I know…"

"Oh, so you _know_ me now?" he interrupts.

"I…I thought you cared."

"You thought wrong. Why do you think you only get to imagine me? I'm not here. I'm not even _close_. He's right." Sam feels his breath in her ear. "He told me _exactly_ where to find you. And guess what?"

Paralysis.

"You're all alone."

And if that wasn't enough…

"You only have a few hours left. Enjoy them, Demon."

* * *

_strain  
__judge  
__always win  
__dinner  
__flames  
__business__  
_

"And…what exactly is this supposed to mean?"

"Strain…like a strainer! It's something used in cooking, and…" Freddie lets out a yell of frustration. "Just trust me, alright? We don't have time for explanations! Ricky Flame…we sort of ruined his career. Look him up on your computer, tech nerd!"

The guy glares at him, but Freddie hardly notices.

"I was wondering where that guy went," Mustache Man thinks out loud. "His show pretty much disintegrated. What about that third…lesson or whatever it was?"

His eyes close. "I'm not sure."

"He's still in Seattle, Sir," the living room corner says.

"Where?"

"He switched addresses four times in the past three years. He was evicted twice for not paying rent. His mother died before that and he had to—"

"_Where_?" the detective repeats impatiently.

After an address is shouted out, Mustache Man nods at another guy and has him call a team to pick the man up for questioning.

Freddie checks the clock on the wall and sighs. They won't get there in time.

* * *

The pain is still intense, as always, but if she only has a few hours to live, Sam just wants to fall into a peaceful sleep. No dreams, no thoughts, no worries. She squeezes her eyes shut so tight that she sees static. The sore ache that results in her eyeballs is soothing. It's a different kind of pain.

_I like this kind of pain._

* * *

"Right on time," Freddie begins the conversation.

"Indeed."

"I've been keeping busy. Doing some work. Putting your puzzle pieces together."

"Have you?"

"Yes, and I've discovered that you are a _very_ sore loser. Cops will be there in minutes."

"What'd I lose?"

Freddie doubts whether he should agitate Ricky, but it comes out anyway. "Your career, your family, your home…pretty much your life."

"That sounds quite horrific."

Something isn't right.

"You're not very talkative this hour, Ricky."

The voice laughs. "Freddie, I'm so proud of you! Congratulations!"

Something definitely isn't right.

"Thanks…?"

"You still need to figure out the location, though. But regardless, I'm impressed! I felt very blatant when I said the 'house burst into flames' part, but it didn't get through your thick skull until later."

"_Look, I don't think this guy is working alone. I think maybe someone is telling him to d—"_

His lips feel cold.

"Who is blackmailing you to do this, Ricky?"

"Who said anything about blackmail?"

"Who are you working for?"

"Again," the voice says. "Where is this coming from?"

"From Sam, moron. You heard her yourself."

"Ah. She's a fascinating human being, that Sam. If she were older, then I would—heck, that hasn't stopped me before."

Freddie's blood boils.

"You're probably seething right now, so I'll make this quick." The voice clears its throat. "Keep your enemies close, your friends closer."

"I thought lessons were only given on multiples of six hours," Freddie responds through clenched teeth.

"It's not a lesson, Freddie. It's just a little friendly advice. Pardon the pun."

11:32 AM

"You have five hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Twists and turns remain ahead…a lot can happen in five hours :)**

**Thanks for being loyal and amazing. I'll assume a few of you were on spring break last week :) 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Nkcandygirl', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'Kezziexx', 'scribblesandriddles', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Seddieforlife', 'irishfan62', 'akarandomfang', 'PinaySeddier', 'lauren', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'rimdsloveseddie', and 'TheRockAngel'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – haha that's good though! For me, hehe. Oh yes, updating is back to regularity. Thanks!**

'**lauren' – don't die! Thank youuu!**


	21. Chapter Twenty: Hour Twenty

**I'd be eternally grateful if any of you would be kind enough to spread the knowledge of the existence of this story/my other stories. Teehee…I hate sounding like that, but…yeah. =]**

**Chapter Twenty: Hour Twenty**

* * *

11:33 AM

She wonders what time it is. How long has she been here? It feels like a week, but she'd be dead from starvation and dehydration. It's probably been a couple days, since she feels like she could pass out any second from the hunger and the thirst.

"Sam?"

_Really? _Really_ now?_

"Sam, what are you doing here?"

"I'm on vacation," she grumbles.

"This isn't exactly the beach or the slopes. And you look like absolute hell."

"Thanks."

"I would apologize, but…just go get a mirror and look at yourself."

The last time she looked in a mirror, she was traumatized by one four-letter word now permanently engraved on her skin.

"I'll pass, Carly."

She grunts. "Whatever. When you're out of this depressing place, we need to go over the farm girl skit again for the show."

Sam refuses to cry again. "I can't do the show this week."

"Sam! You actually promised this time that you wouldn't be late or screw up or digress or _anything_!"

"Carls…"

"We shook ankles!"

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Friends. Obviously not Sam, Carly, or Spencer.

Gibby.

Freddie presses the name of that contact listing and waits for the two and a half rings to pass.

"Gibbaaaaayyyyy."

"Uh, hey Gibby. What're you up to?" Keep it suave, Freddie.

"Babysitting Guppy. Hey, I told you _not_ to eat that chair! I'm _not_ picking out any more splinters from your tongue!"

Freddie grimaces. "Uh, Gibby?"

"NO!" The line has static for a little bit. "Sorry. What up, Freddie-O?"

"Since it's not the middle of the night, do you want to come over?" Smooth and easy.

"I can bring Gup?"

"Uh, yeah, whatever."

"Wait, are those freaks still in your apartment?" Freddie hears Guppy scream something about birthdays. "Are you involved in some sort of conspiracy? Is it safe? Because I don't want to be any part of—"

"Gibby!"

"Gibbaaaaaaay."

Freddie rubs his forehead. "No. It's safe. Come over. Please?"

"Gibby goooooonnee." _Click._

Freddie doesn't feel like calling back and asking what on Earth that boy's answer is. He'll just wait, and if he has to go over to that house and strangle that boy, demanding where Sam is, then so be it.

"Sir? Mr. Flame wasn't at his residence."

_Shocker_, Freddie thinks to himself.

"Has Agent Gregg left a voicemail on the home and cell numbers you gave him?"

"Yes Sir."

Mustache Man leans back, smooths back his eyebrows, and glances at Freddie, who rolls his eyes at the former. "You actually expect Ricky to call back and say, 'Yes, I do have Sam. Come and get her?'"

The detective shrugs. "Procedure. And maybe Flame isn't involved at all."

Freddie freezes. "But…but all the clues were there and he said that—"

"Same thing with Cal, remember?"

He feels a strong urge to chuck his mother's finest china across the room. It's like just when he steps forward, the Voice drags him back an entire football field. Or maybe the Voice wants him to think that the Voice is messing with him. Or maybe he wants him to think that it is actually Flame because Freddie would want to stay a step ahead—

Freddie lets out a roar and hurls the decorative plates, loving the sound they make when they shatter against the wall.

* * *

"_Ahhhh," Carly sighs again. "Sean is soooooo fine!" She scrolls through another picture album on the guy's SplashFace page._

"_I thought you liked Dan," Sam asks impassively, browsing through music albums on the shelves in her room. The girls had finished their group chemistry lab write-up, well; okay…Carly finished the lab write-up at Sam's house and typed both of their names on it. Either way, they were winding down after another long Thursday._

"_I think he's dating Wendy now." Carly spins around in Sam's desk chair and folds her arms across her chest. "I hate that girl."_

"_What? Since when?"_

_Carly flops on Sam's bed. "Since she stole Dan."_

_Sam rolls her eyes. "Whatever. We can stalk Sean if you want."_

_The brunette grins at the back of the blonde's head. "Hey, are you going to pick something or what?"_

_Sam scowls and tugs out something of The Fray's, inserting the CD into the player and increasing the volume. Frothy waddles in and starts drooling on Sam's foot._

"_Aah! I gave you your shot, Frothy; why are you still…frothing?"_

_Carly's nose is scrunched up. "What else would you expect?"_

_Sam nudges the creature out the door and closes it. High-pitched screech-like meows result._

"_So who do you like?" Carly asks when Sam collapses on the bed next to her._

"_What?"_

_The brunette giggles. "Don't pretend like you didn't hear me. Who do you think is hot?"_

"_Our school is really ugly, Carls."_

"_No it's not! We have Jake…and Travis…and Dan and Sean…"_

_Sam shrugs. "Now that we're seniors, the oldest high school boys aren't that appealing anymore. And definitely not any underclassmen."_

_Carly shifts and rests her cheek on one palm. "Oh, come _on._ There has to be at least _one_ guy you have a crush on."_

"_No there doesn't!" _Yes there does.

"_Yes there does!"_

_Fudge._

"_Not _every_ girl falls for every guy she sees."_

_Carly frowns. "Ouch."_

"_Not _you_!" Sam throws up her hands in exasperation. "Just…I'm not interested in dating anyone right now."_

"_What about the near future?"_

_Sam fakes a grin and smacks the girl with a pillow. "Drop it. So do you like this song?"_

It was shocking that she actually did drop it, but Sam knew she had to be careful from then on. No more too-long glances or excessive insults.

"_They say when a girl constantly rips on a guy, it really just means she has a crush on him."_

Sam grimaces as the pain in her elbow surpasses the rest again. _Screw you, Freddie._

The door opens and he enters.

"Did you bring me some food this time?" She attempts a bitter tone, but it doesn't come out quite right.

"Sorry, I'm not a caterer. And you wouldn't want to eat anything I cook anyway. It's not one of my talents."

"Oh, right, I forgot," Sam snaps, having a burst of idiotic confidence. "Sadomasochism is."

He laughs and rests two fingers on her elbow, lightly stroking her bruised skin. She squeezes her eyes so tight like that time before, getting high on the pleasant pain in preparation for the real pain.

He presses down.

* * *

"_FREDWARD BENSON_!"

He squeezes the bridge of his nose with two fingers and groans. "Not now."

"Look what you _DID_!"

"Look, I'm sorry…"

"Is 'sorry' going to pay for this?" she shrieks, emerging from the kitchen with a broom and a dustpan. Mustache Man remains dead silent throughout the entire exchange.

_I don't need this right now_. "Mom, I'm under a lot of str—"

Mrs. Benson shoves the materials in Freddie's chest. "Clean this up! NOW!"

Freddie has enough to worry about. Sure, maybe he shouldn't have thrown the plates, but she should at least understand…

So as he's recently done, Freddie heads for the door to escape it all.

"You can't just keep running away, Freddie!" she screams at him. "Own up to it! Be a _man_!"

He wheels around and gives her an incredulous look. "I'm trying. I'm trying so _hard_."

Mrs. Benson is speechless because of the look on her son's face, so with that, he slams the door behind him.

* * *

"So."

Sam's tear-stained face pales. "God, you _scared_ me!"

"So I hear that you've been thinking about me."

She does her best to speak normally through the pain. "What?"

"Oh, give it up, Sam. Carly kept asking you who the lucky guy was and you knew she'd burst out laughing if you t—"

"Freddie, shut _UP_!"

"Harsh. Coming from the girl who has _that_ written on her stomach."

The multiple kinds of pain break her, and she bursts into tears. "I _hate_ you! Leave me alone! You're the reason I'm here in the first place! Who did you hurt so badly that he'd resort to _this_? I'm _dying_! It's your fault! I was _raped_! And I couldn't fight back because I'm broken everywhere and I'm hungry and tired and thirsty so don't you _dare_ call me a slut because I already know that and I can't take any of it back and I wish I could because this _isn't_ the way I wanted to lose my virginity!"

Her lungs give out, and Sam collapses into a round of gasping for air and stuttering sobs.

"Geez, take a breath, Sam."

It takes at least two minutes for her to compose herself again, and the more intense pain in her elbow fuels her anger.

"I hate you…I _HATE_ YOU!"

* * *

Freddie hates his ringtone.

"Ricky, if you don't tell me right now where Sam is, I swear I'll—"

"Where are you going, Freddie?"

He stops in his tracks. "Wha—h-how did—"

"Oh relax," the voice snarls. "I can hear the traffic."

_Keep breathing, Freddie. Just keep breathing_. "Nowhere, really. I just…needed some air."

"Now isn't really the time to be taking a walk, now, is it? You don't have much time."

Freddie's legs give out, so he sits against some brick wall in an alley. "I am aware." He suddenly remembers. "So are you going to tell me who you _really_ are?"

"Pardon?"

"I know you're not Ricky. You wouldn't give that away so quickly."

"Wouldn't I?"

"STOP IT!" Freddie yells, heart pounding and head spinning. "WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR? WHO _ARE_ YOU?"

"Your voice is hardly music to my ears, Freddie."

"ANSWER ME!"

"For goodness sake, Freddie." The voice clears his throat. "You already have everything you need to find her."

_That's impossible. I've gotten _nowhere_._ "Please," he begs. "You don't get what you want until I find you. I know you want me to figure it out. But I can't do that with what I have."

"Sure you can."

Is it odd that Freddie is now used to talking to him? Awaiting his calls like some obsessed boyfriend? Used to the voice saying his name? Used to the voice talking so calmly and sure that Freddie won't figure it out before it's too late?

"You're smart, Freddie. You can do this."

"I can't," he whispers. "Don't you have _any_ mercy?"

The voice laughs. "Depends on the situation, but nice try. I've already given you everything you need. How did you figure out Ricky Flame?"

"_What_? Stop talking in riddles!"

Wait, where's Gibby?

12:32 PM

"You have four hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**So yeah, many people were surprised to find out that there's a SEQUEL when this thing is over. Yep, it's true. My profile says all, so those that checked it recently found out about the news first :)**

**I love 'Kezziexx', 'akg.517', 'Seddieforlife', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'Nkcandygirl', 'irishfan62', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'Lauren', 'Guest', 'twnklingsediestr', 'scribblesandriddles', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'akarandomfang', and 'rimdsloveseddie'.**

'**Lauren' - :D thanks!**

'**Guest' and 'twnklingsediestr' [assuming the same person, haha] – no problem! And thank you! Yep! Five chapters, an epilogue, and then a HECK of a sequel :)**


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Hour Twenty-One

**Spread the word! ...Or…spread the story! Ahh, publicize my existence! Heh, I'm lame.**

**BY THE WAY: confusion from last chapter cleared up. Sam's first section is a hallucination of Carly being with her at that moment. Her second section was a flashback to the past. Sam's third section was her hallucinating that Freddie was there with her again.**

**Yeah, the italics are the past and regular is the present. At least I **_**think**_** I kept that consistent.**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Hour Twenty-One**

* * *

12:33 PM

"Hello?"

"Freddie! Any news?"

"Uh, no, not yet." He clears his throat. "But it'll all be over soon."

"Okay…" Carly pauses. "And how do you know that?"

Freddie bites the inside of his lip. "Just a feeling,"

"You're kind of creeping me out, Freddie." He hears a sharp intake of breath. "Oh…oh my God. She isn't…you're not…"

"No, Carly, relax. I'm not lying to you. She's not dead."

Carly sighs. "Yeah, I'll just relax. Thanks for the earth-shattering tip, Freddie." Freddie hears a muffled Spencer, and after a few seconds, she speaks up again. "Look, we're about to head to the airport, so we'll see you in a bit."

_Click._

"Bye."

* * *

_I don't want to die._

It hits her like a train. Some part of her doesn't want to end.

Sam wants to see that demonic cat of hers one more time. To hear her mother scream at her for a minute. Maybe just one more drink with Carly at the Groovy Smoothie. She could give Gibby a Texas Wedgie for the first time in…no, Sam doesn't want to do that anymore. She just wants to hug the stupid nerd.

Even Melanie, of all people. Sam wants to hear her clone's voice, look at her perfect face, perfect body, perfect perfection. Look at everything she could have been. Everything she could have done with her life.

_If I'd turned out like Melanie, I wouldn't be here. _She closes her eyes. _I hate everything about her, but anything beats being here. I just had to become a bitter, sarcastic, and evil _pig_._

_Good job, moron, _Sam thinks to herself. _Being a punk instead of a Barbie really has its benefits._

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Melanie. Have you…um…heard anything yet?"

Freddie can hear a hint of Sam's voice in her twin's. His heart aches. "No, but she's okay. She'll be okay."

Melanie sighs. "Okay, look, I'm on a bus right now. I get there Tuesday night. Could you pick me up at the bus stop when I—"

"Yeah, sure." Freddie is distracted by the distant outline of a chubby tall kid and a chubby short kid walking hand in hand. "I have to go. See you Wednesday."

"Tuesday."

"Right."

_Click._

* * *

"You…you said a while ago that you hated your childhood."

The un-morphed voice echoes in the room. "I did."

"Why? What happened?"

He strokes her deformed elbow. "Do you care?"

Sam struggles to control her breathing. "Yes," she gasps. "Yes I do."

He grunts. "Well, it's a typical, cliché story. Dad leaves mother to raise child on her own, mother blames and abuses child, child hates the world."

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I'm sure."

"No, I know. I do. My father left when I was young. My mom blamed me and never let me forget how incompetent I am compared to my perfect sister."

"Did she hit you?"

"Well, maybe once or twice, but—"

"YOU _DON'T _KNOW!" the man shrieks. "YOU SAID YOURSELF THAT PHYSICAL PAIN IS WORSE THAN ANY OTHER!" He leaps up from the ground and stomps on her elbow. His booming yell is somehow audible over her screaming. "AND _YOUR_ MOTHER IS STILL ALIVE!"

He whips his boot off of Sam and slaps the wall, screaming some more. Sam struggles to regain control over her voice and the pain. "Stop! Please, stop! I'm sorry!"

He stops, and the room screams with silence. "Are you?" he hisses. "Do you know what it's like to not be able to be by her deathbed in those final moments? To tell her everything is okay? To tell her that…"

Sam is paralyzed on another level besides her physical impairments. "How long has it been?" she whispers.

His heavy breathing comes close to her ears.

"Eleven months, thirty days, twenty and a half hours."

"Almost a year," her voice croaks, since she doesn't know what else to say.

Thick fingers grab her earlobe and pull her face to his, ear to lips.

"And I plan on doing something special to commemorate it."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Freddie, Flame has an alibi."

What?

"What?" The Gibsons are getting closer, so he doesn't have much time to talk.

Mustache Man sounds almost guilty for having to tell him. "He's in Boise for a job interview. The motel owner and the interviewer can confirm his whereabouts for the past two days."

Freddie almost chucks his phone to the cement, but hangs on. "Thanks," he growls, hanging up.

"Freddie-O!"

"Happy birfday!"

"Gib, Gup." _Keep it cool, keep it cool_.

"I thought we were meeting at your place."

"Uh…" _Say something_! "Uh…I just needed some air."

"I'm pretty sure there's air in your apartment, silly." Gibby pulls Guppy as the latter tugs on Freddie's jeans. Freddie rolls his eyes and snaps, "I needed to go outside, alright?"

Gibby gives up on his brother and puts his hands up. "Hey now, there's no need to put a butternut squash in pancake batter!"

What?

Freddie squeezes the bridge of his nose. "Okay. My bad." He has an odd sense of déjà vu. Freddie opens his mouth to ask, but hesitates. Gibby couldn't be doing this, right? He and Sam have been getting along fairly well recently. And he couldn't pull this off, could he? The Voice is just trying to mess with him, just like with the Ricky Flame bit.

"Do you know what 'Don't climb a tree to escape a mountain lion' means?"

Gibby scoffs. "You can't give a rifle to a _moose_! How _rude_!"

Guppy almost succeeds in yanking Freddie's pants down, and the latter hooks his fingers through the belt loops, anchoring his clothing to his body. "Guppy! You can only do that to me!" Gibby scolds, pulling his brother back by the arm.

Freddie scratches his head and pulls at his hair. "Never mind." This was a mistake. He's just wasting his time.

"So what do you wanna do today?"

"Huh?"

"You know," Gibby says. "We were going to hang out…?"

"Oh. Ah…I said tomorrow, remember? Groovy Smoothie at, uh, one?"

Gibby gives him a skeptical look as Guppy wishes Freddie happy birfday again. "Okay, weirdo." They walk away as Gibby shouts, "Guppy! _Another_ tongue-splinter?"

* * *

Now she's not sure if she wants to live. She's already having flashbacks of the rape. Continuing to have those would be worse than death. But…she just needs to see the outside world again. Then maybe she could die. She'd be okay with that.

Sam desperately wants to know how long she's been here. The pain severely morphs time, and she's not sure if she should be worried about dehydration or not. She's _really_ thirsty.

_God, what I would do for a Blueberry Blitz right now…_

Sam has that sudden yearning to step inside the Groovy Smoothie just one more time. Have one more drink. Refuse T-Bo's food-on-a-stick one more time.

She's been here too long. Where's the rescue team? Where are the police and the ambulance and the sirens that make Frothy froth every time?

_Where _are_ you, Freddie? Please, _don't_ give up on me. _

_Please._

* * *

HOLD on. It's hour twenty-one, right? And twenty-one is a multiple of three.

Freddie halts in his tracks, seeing Bushwell in the distance. He'll get to speak to her again, right? But the Voice was going by increments of ten, and last time he had ten seconds, right? But the Voice wouldn't go off pattern, would he? That would ruin the symmetry of his plan. There has to be something he can do in whatever time he has to say what he needs to say.

What should he say? He's still at a loss as to who could be doing this or whom he could be working for. Freddie has gone through suspect after suspect, crossing them off one by one on his small, imaginary list. He doesn't know where she is, if she's even in Seattle anymore, or Washington, or…

_No. The Voice wants me to find her, right? He can't leave. It…it wouldn't make sense._

_Right?_

His phone vibrates in his pocket and shrieks its song, and Freddie swears multiple times, vowing to change his ringtone soon. Very soon.

"Hello?"

"You have one second, Samantha Puckett."

_ONE?! Wait wh—_

And then it just comes out.

"SAMILOVEYOU!"

"Time's up."

He isn't exactly sure of what he was expecting, but he wasn't expecting this reaction.

"NOOO! NO NO NO NO—" her fading screams and sobs are already haunting him. Sam sounds so lost and heartbroken. Why would she do that? Can't she _see_ it?

"That was very touching, Freddie."

His eyes close, and it takes everything he has to not squeeze his phone to the point of shattering it. "One second? That doesn't fit the ten-second descend that you had going on."

"Who says I can't change the rules up a bit? It is my game, as you call it, after all. And by the way, she didn't exactly take the confession well." He laughs.

"I know you're not Ricky," Freddie snaps. "He's in Idaho. He's been there for two days. Now give me something I can actually work with. You want me to find you. Otherwise all of these calls are pointless."

"Thank your police friends for some amazing detective work, Freddie. Say, is Gibby there with you?"

His heart skips. "What?"

"Aw, come _on_, Freddie. I told you to keep your friends closer!"

"I'm not falling for it this time!" he screams. "Give me something useful!"

"I already have."

"No you haven't!"

"Freddie, Freddie…" the voice drawls. "You need to stop focusing on _me_! What's more important here?"

"Sam," he immediately blurts.

"I'm sure. But what's _more_ important? Think in the moment, Freddie."

"I don't have time for games!" Freddie shouts as he kicks at a trashcan, sending its contents sprawling out onto the street. "What could _possibly_ be more important than Sam?"

"Finding her."

He's silent. "What?" Freddie whispers.

"Have you ever seen 'Achmed the Dead Terrorist' on YouTube?"

"What? No!"

"It's pretty funny," the voice chuckles. "My favorite joke is when he says: 'Location, location, location.'"

"I…"

1:32 PM

"You have three hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**Thaaaaaank youuuuuuu 'Kezziexx', 'TheRockAngel', 'Nkcandygirl', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'irishfan62', 'ILuvThisStory', 'nadene-seddiefan' (x2), 'Seddieforlife', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'Julziexx3', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'scribblesandriddles', 'twinklingsediest', 'akarandomfang', 'Lauren', 'hejk12345', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'green aura', and 'CrazyCandyScarletNinja'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – hahaha please don't worry about it! Yuck, that sounds awful. Haha yeah, Ricky Flame: the "cry baby weirdo." Haha guppy: the ultimate mastermind. Yeah, sorry about the confusion. Gibby has appeared now! That's impressive, I'm not sure if I could type that fast! Thanks so much, really.**

'**twinklingsediest' – omg you forgot the 'r' at the end of your name! ahaha the horror! =] thanks, and Gibby has showed himself! Along with some Guppy awesomeness, of course.**

'**Lauren' – YES INDEED! Thanks so much galpal!**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Hour Twenty-Two

**Tell your friends, family, dogs, cats, platypuses…platipii, plati—people…whatever or whoever about me! :D**

**Oh, and you might not want to be eating something while you read this chapter…heh.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Hour Twenty-Two**

* * *

1:33 PM

_How could he do that to me? Why would he SAY that? How _dare_ he! _

The door opens and he enters, and she tries to stop crying, but fails.

"We need to make you look presentable."

"Wh-what?"

"Well, by presentable, I mean…"

And then a fine substance rains down on her face. Sam coughs and sputters, spitting out a few grains that have sneaked their way into her mouth. "What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Oh relax, it's just dust and dirt. It's not toxic." She feels it rain on her arms and legs, stinging the various cuts on her skin. Sam breathes in the particles, and they tickle her nose hairs. When she sneezes, her chest bursts into flames; at least that's what it feels like. The cut on her eye is burning along with the one on her neck.

A fist suddenly catches her right cheek near the cut. She's screaming as he hits and kicks at her face and chest, her bra doing nothing to protect her. "Why are you doing this? OW! I already look terrible! Stop! AAAH!"

"Not terrible enough."

* * *

Freddie forces himself to sit through "Achmed the Dead Terrorist" on the YouTube app on his phone. Every time he's about to laugh or even lets out a little snort, he feels like his insides are rotting. _How can I be laughing right now? You're as bad as the Voice is!_

Nothing stands out as a clue except that location phrase. He decides not to interpret it as something deep or overly meaningful. He's been focusing on figuring out who the Voice is instead of trying to locate him.

"This is hopeless," he mutters, rubbing his forehead and nose. "I don't know how to do this anymore." He sniffles and looks up at the world moving around him. "And now I'm talking to myself."

The cars laze around in the Seattle traffic without a care in the world. There's a lawyer talking on three phones at once during her lunch break. There's a sixteen year-old blasting Taylor Swift in her car as she celebrates getting her driving permit. There's an old lady in high heels, which are _way_ too high for someone her age, walking her poodle.

Nobody cares. Nobody knows. They're all ignorant and ungrateful and disgustingly happy. The word "pain" doesn't even have a meaning. It's all just so simple for them.

_Morons!_

Freddie realizes that he probably doesn't know what pain is either. But Sam does. And it's his fault. There's nothing he can do. It'll all end in a few hours. She's gone.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

Every breath comes out as a moan, and Sam hates that. She sounds like a wuss. Even though practically every bone in her body is broken or bruised, she's still a girl who can't handle a little pain. _Come on, you loser slut. Get over it. He's given up on you; you should do the same_.

But how could he do that to her? After only a day or two or however long it's been, he goes and does that? _Says_ that?

Freddie doesn't plan on seeing her ever again.

_I hate you! How could you just give up like that? It's not over until I'm dead! Or is it just easier to forget that I was ever in your life?_

Sam feels a sharp pang in her lower stomach, and a rock forms in her throat. "No," she whispers and bites her lip. "No, please, not again." She was just starting to get used to that burning sensation between her legs.

"HEY! I NEED A TOILET!" she gets out before the newly forming bruises on her face and around her neck overwhelm her sanity and make her burst into tears. "PLEASE!" She chokes on her own saliva and becomes dizzy. Nausea invites her gag reflex to dance, and she retches. Not much is in her stomach, but whatever was comes up and floods out of her esophagus and onto the floor beside her. The smell is horrific. "COME ON!" she croaks. "I'M SICK!"

Sam's sobbing her heart out and she doesn't get a response for at least ten minutes. Swallowing the leftover throw up is disgusting and almost makes her vomit again. Once her mouth is relatively clean, she gives up and lets her other problem go. Why not? It can't possibly get worse from here.

Yellow, liquid warmth trickles from in between her legs and forms a lake on the floor. It doesn't bother her this time, though. Her bladder thanks her, and a wave of relief washes over her. Sam can barely feel her legs burning because all of the other pains drown it out.

_He gave up on you; you should give up on you too._

Maybe if she throws up some more, it will be enough to kill her. But she can't muster the strength or the willpower to move an arm to bring a finger to her mouth. Sam curls her tongue back and tries to tickle her uvula while imitating a vomit-convulsion. It doesn't work and only drains her oxygen supply.

"HEY!" she screams. "HEY YOU! BE A MAN AND KILL ME!"

Nothing for a few seconds. "WHAT, ARE YOU CHICKEN?"

All of the yelling is draining her energy. "Wouldn't it feel good to just use that knife on my throat some more, big boy?" Sam catches her breath. "Or do you prefer murder by gun? I'm ready, you psycho! Bring it on!"

And somehow her situation does get even worse when he doesn't come into the room.

**M**aybe he'll wait some more until he kills her. He must be close to it, right? What the hell were those decreasing limits on how long she could speak to that traitor Freddie? Time is up! She will probably never speak to him again. _Good riddance_.

**I**nnocence is probably still with her and everyone else in the world. It never goes away because not _everything_ bad that could possibly happen will happen to one person during their lifetime. _We'll all still be ignorant of at least_ _something_.

**N**ever knowing how bad it can get is a blessing and a curse, producing both bliss and apathy. Why are humans even alive? Everything the species does is destroy every environment it touches. The planet is dying and people are dying and animals are being tortured. People are starving and killing and lying and robbing and cheating and not receiving justice. If there's some supernatural force governing this all or letting this happen, she doesn't understand why.

**E**nds aren't things that she's thought of before all of this happened. The end of her pathetic life, the ends of relationships and sights and sounds and all feeling and consciousness. Sam doesn't believe in heaven or hell. Once you die, that's it. You're gone. You don't float around as a ghost, stalking and haunting anyone you please. You aren't reborn as a lizard or a cow or a Shetland pony. You just decay and rot and turn back into dust, your soul gone and nonexistent.

It scares the hell out of her.

But it seems that trying to live longer is simply procrastinating death, at least in her position. What's the point? Everyone has given up on her. She's given up on herself. She's been raped and beaten and broken and touched in ways that she refuses to relive. What could possibly be left on this Earth for her to live for?

* * *

Freddie guesses that there's nothing left to do but head back to Bushwell to face his demonic mother and that idiot detective who makes him empty promises. The call should come soon. He doesn't know why he should even pick up the phone. What's going to change?

When his phone rings, Freddie just stares at it for a moment. Why bother? Sam's pretty much dead by now. There's no way he can figure this out and get to her in only two hours.

For some reason, he answers anyway.

"Yeah."

"Hello. Having a good hour?"

Freddie breathes in and out deeply before responding. "Depends. I'm giving up and forfeiting this game thing. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or disappointed."

"That's quite strange of you to do, Freddie, after your recent confession to our friend."

"Deal with it. I'm done."

The voice just laughs. "Boy, we both know you're not. If you actually love that girl, you wouldn't."

"Well maybe I don't! It just came out! You gave me one second, you idiot! What was I _supposed_ to say?"

As soon as the words leave his lips, his heart drops to his feet. Did he actually just say that?

"What if I told you that you're going to know our location within the hour?"

Freddie is coming up to the apartment complex's entrance. "Why, are you sending me a letter? A text? A freaking billboard sign?"

"Nah. If you just keep thinking in simple terms, you'll get it by the time we next speak."

Freddie becomes even more nervous seeing Lewbert's desk abandoned as he walks across the lobby and punches the elevator button. _That would be too obvious, wouldn't it_?

"How could you possibly predict my thought processes?"

"If you follow my instructions, it should all work out. Review and simplify."

The doors ding. "And how do I know you're not just playing me?" Freddie's about to enter the elevator when he hesitates, afraid to lose the call. He keeps the doors open with his outstretched leg.

"Well, I'll give you a little treat. That whole 'keep your friends closer' thing? Yeah…complete nonsense." The voice chuckles. "It's fun messing with you, but I'd love it even more if you figured out our location."

"I need more than that."

"But where's the fun in that? Just use common sense. You do have that, right?"

"You tell me," Freddie growls. "You seem to have been stalking me for quite some time now. You probably know everything about me."

"Most likely. I think you've got what it takes." Freddie isn't sure how to respond.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you!" the voice continues, laughing. "I've been observing our little friend, and I've gotta say, she hates you."

Something inside of him dies. "What?"

"Your little confession backfired, idiot." He laughs again. "Classic."

"You're lying," Freddie hisses.

"Believe me or not. That won't change what my cameras catch."

"You have _cameras_ in the room she's in?" His blood boils. "You _PERVERT_!"

The voice laughs some more. Freddie's ears hurt from the echo. "Oh, and she had a little accident again. Classic."

"What?" And then he gets it. He wants to cry.

"You know. Wow," the morphed sound says after a slight pause. "This is probably the longest we've ever spoken."

"You bas—"

"Language, Freddie. Words can be offensive."

"You know what?" he shrieks. "Fu—"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa _now! That's a bomb you don't want to drop! Manners, Freddie. What you say and what you do affects others. Life lesson here, buddy."

"Are you _DONE_ yet?"

"Yep! Oh, wait—no."

2:32 PM

"You have two hours, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**I love 'Nkcandygirl', 'irishfan62', 'Kezziexx', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'SeddieFan99', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'twnklingsediestr', 'Seddieforlife', 'PinaySeddier', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'Lauren', 'pir84lyf', 'akarandomfang', and 'selfless seddie'.**

'**twnklingsediestr' – yeah…but don't lose hope! You will find out soooooooon!**

'**Lauren' – muahahaha yessss! You make my days, really. Thanks for all the compliments.**

'**selfless seddie' – could be! Thanks so much!**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: Hour Twenty-Three

**Spread this story's legacy around! And my parents are coming to visit me in a couple hours :) Finally.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Hour Twenty-Three**

* * *

2:33 PM

**M**aybe **I**nnocence **N**ever **E**nds

Straight-slant-slant-straight straight-straight-straight straight-slant-straight straight-straight-straight-straight.

That's what is engraved on her skin. The tender covering that's over her empty belly. The smooth tan freckled with brown moles is now swollen, red, and blistered. Sam can still feel each press of the boiling metal rod on her skin, the mechanical and focused way he did it, and how the pain got even worse when he was done.

MINE

She's not his. She's _not_.

* * *

Freddie doesn't want to make the Voice happy at _all._ He doesn't want to listen to it. He doesn't want to obey it. But pride is obviously not something he can preserve in this situation. If he does, he doesn't figure out the location and he doesn't get Sam.

The elevator is taking _way_ too long. He's been in there for what, five minutes already?

_DING_

He stumbles out so quickly that his foot catches on one of the opening doors, he trips and crashes to the ground, smacking his face on the hard floor.

"GAHHH! Oh, what the _hell _you stupid elevator!" Freddie inhales quickly and deeply through his nose, and thick liquid flies back. He holds up the back of his right hand to his nostrils, pulls it away, and curses. "Seriously? A bloody nose? You've got to be—!"

And then he remembers what he's supposed to be doing for the next fifty minutes or so. Freddie pinches his nose, pounds down the hall, turns the unlocked door handle, and falls inside.

"Fredward Benson! What on Earth _happened_?"

"Mom, it's fine."

"Did that bully pick on you again? Should I poke him with a fencing sword? Because I swear, that was the _last_ straw—"

"MOM!" Freddie screams so loud that his eardrums cringe. "I'm fine!" He turns to Mustache Man. "Do you have every recording since…it happened? _Every_ single one?"

"Uh, yeah, but it's all on this laptop and I need it f—HEY!" the detective shouts when Freddie snatches it off the coffee table in the living room and sprints down the hall. "Freddie!"

"Fredward Benson!" his mother echoes.

"Can't talk! Don't bother me!" he yells before he slams and locks his bedroom door like a dramatic teenage girl in one of those _Lifetime_ movies. It's all so surreal. The last day of his life has all been a dream, and he's going to wake up any second. _Any_ second now…

Freddie is about to pinch himself before he remembers, _If that elevator fall didn't wake me up, there's no _way_ I'm not awake._

So he opens up the audio software, drags the time bar to the beginning, and presses the sideways triangle.

And so it begins.

* * *

He's ruffling, well, screwing up her blonde curls even more than they already are. Sam can hear his whispered chants about 'it almost being time.'

Time for _what_?

She screams when he drags something that feels like a rusty nail against the skin near her collarbone and neck. "What are you doing? Stop! What is that?"

"A rusty nail. Making you look presentable."

Sam's too scared and mortified and exhausted and overwhelmed to roll her eyes. She's constantly stuttering when she speaks, and she hates that. "Why? What does presentable _mean_ to you?"

He starts scraping a straight line under the word on her stomach. It doesn't hurt so bad compared to everything she's been through, so she doesn't cry. "It depends on the situation, hun."

Sam grimaces when the nail goes in deeper. "What's the situation now?"

"I'm moving you in a little bit."

Her heart plummets. "W-what? Why?"

She can hear the smile in his voice. "Because people will be here soon, sweetie."

Her eyes close, and a tear slides down her dirt-stained cheek. "How do you know people are coming for me?" _Convince him to let you stay here._ "I bet they're just trying to intimidate you. Maybe they want you to move me. Maybe they can track you if you move and then you'll get caught and then—"

"Samantha, you should know by now that I'm not stupid. We're moving in a little while and that's final. I am your master. You are mine."

"No, I'm not!"

"Of course you are. You both are."

"Who's both? Freddie isn't yours either!" Sam's heart pounds to the uneven beat of her voice.

"Of course it's not Freddie, silly."

Sam screams. "Who are you _working_ for then?"

He pats her head, and Sam tries to shrink away. "Oh Samantha. Samantha, Samantha, Samantha. You are mine. Always will be."

Sam starts shrieking and lashing out and shrieking some more as a result of the pain that comes. "I'm NOT yours! I'm not _anyone's_! Let me _GO_!"

He laughs. "But aren't you Freddie's little girl toy?"

"NO!" She thinks it's the loudest she's ever screamed. "THAT'S THE _LAST_ THING I'D _EVER_ WANT TO BE!"

"Hmm. I don't believe you."

"Well that's too bad! Never in my life will I _ever_ belong to someone! I hate Freddie, I hate you, I hate _everyone_! They're all self-centered morons! I'll always be on my own! I'll always be alone until you finally kill me! And when's that going to be, hot shot? HUH? WHEN ARE YOU FINALLY GO—"

"Soon. Very soon."

His low voice shuts her right up and sends shivers down her bare spine. He opens the door, allowing her a glimpse of what she'll soon see, and leaves her in a sweaty silence.

* * *

"_She's right under your nose."_

That phrase had always seemed a bit off to Freddie, and listening to the tape confirmed it. The Voice took on a more rigid tone during that sentence, as if it were rehearsed. Well, it sounds rehearsed. But maybe the voice-disguiser thing just made it sound that way. Whatever.

It couldn't be Bushwell, though. Right? Mustache Man had a team search the isolated areas of the building, and they turned up with nothing. It had to be something else.

_Review and simplify, Freddie. Review and simplify._

Okay…a nose smells…what does that mean?

He spends ten more minutes without accomplishing anything, so he gives up and continues to go through the recordings until the Voice talks in that weird tone again.

"_When a song is put together so nicely, it has that…tune to it I guess."_

What are the key words here? Song? Together? Nicely? Tune?

It isn't long before Freddie catches that tone again.

"_Come on, this isn't some impossible piecewise function in your calculus class."_

Alright, key words could be 'impossible,' 'piecewise,' 'function,' and 'calculus.'

The next monotone-type expression in the recordings doesn't come for a while.

"_Your voice is hardly music to my ears, Freddie."_

And then Freddie is somewhat relieved to hear a little while later:

"_You already have everything you need to find her."_

Alright. Now he just needs to figure out the four clues in front of him.

_Review and simplify._

Okay, so if this is a location, it must have four keys words or phrases in its name. One from each monotone. Freddie skips the first one since he knows he won't get anywhere. He looks at his key-word lists for the second and third phrases and randomly picks one from each. He assumes that the fourth word is probably music. He tries to match different combinations of his guesses with the "certain" word.

His brain starts to hurt after a while, so he returns to the first hint. And like a Metro bus, it hits him right away.

What's under his nose?

His mouth.

Freddie's heart pounds, and he groups 'mouth' and 'music' together. He thinks. And thinks some more. What two words would go with these two words?

And then he suddenly flashes back to that exact moment he fully understood that feeling he felt for her.

_What is she doing out here? It's like in the middle of nowhere!_

_Freddie has an excuse. His car broke down on a side road on his way to the first day of his summer internship at some technology institute. He didn't have phone service, so Freddie decided to walk until he found someone or some pay phone._

_Wait, is that an actual store? In this deserted area? That must be terrible for business…_

_But that doesn't matter._

_A pair of those old-school headphones rests over the top of her head, and the circular listening devices cover her entire ear on each side. She's holding a CD player in one hand and a wallet in the other as she walks to her car in the small parking lot across from the store. Sam is smiling and bouncing her head around and even dancing a little. She starts singing along._

"_I'll keep you warm,_

_Dancing in a downpour,_

_And I will hold your body slowly turning,_

_I'll keep you warm,_

_Dancing in a downpour,_

_Breathe it in,_

_We'll take it off and soak our skin…"_

_Hey, she isn't half-bad. How come she always says she's a terrible singer? _

"_Maybe I'll find you,_

_Maybe I won't,_

_Baby I'll try to,_

_Even if I don't,_

_You are what I never knew I needed,_

_What I never knew I needed,_

_What I never knew I needed,_

_Almost there…"_

_And then she laughs when her voice slightly cracks at the end. "Nice finish, Puckett," she tells herself. Freddie grins and goes over to ask her how long she's been coming to this place._

_You are what I never knew I needed…_

_Holy cheese. Holy _cheese.

_Freddie halts in his tracks and ducks out of view when Sam pulls out of her spot and leaves the lot. _What the heck was that? _he thinks. _There's no _way_ I could possibly…

_Yeah, there _so_ is._

_Freddie sits there behind a bush with his mouth agape for so long that his lips chap and his tongue feels like it's shriveling. He snaps out of the trance, crosses the street, and enters the store to call for a tow truck. The cashier greets him._

"_Hi, welcome to—"_

RING!

Fueled with adrenaline, Freddie brings himself back to the present and smashes the Answer button with his thumb.

"Mouthpiece Tunes Music Store."

"See? Now what did I tell you? Congratulations! I still remember the lyrics she was singing. And the look on your face was priceless!" The voice chuckles. "Classic, man. Little Fredbag has got himself a little crush."

"Shut up. Listen very, very carefully," Freddie hisses through his teeth. "When I get there, I will personally rip the intestines out of your body and rip off your eyelids. And then I'll do even worse things to you than you did to Sam. Got it, macho?"

The voice laughs. "Whatever floats your boat, Freddie. But it's quite a drive from Bushwell, so I'd get moving. Remember your limit."

3:32 PM

"You have one hour, Fredward Benson."

* * *

**OHMYGOODNESS GUYS GUESS WHAT?! MAT KEARNEY IS COMING TO MY COLLEGE AND PERFORMING NEXT WEEK! I…JUST… 8Q934%W^7Q36Q$NBUW$^64WN&*$ ^&%N34BWB!**

**Song credits go to "Rainy Zurich" by The Fray. Listen to it, it's fantastic.**

**I'm running out of things to say to my reviewers…but what else is there besides I love y'all and thank you? 'scribblesandriddles', 'Julziexx3', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'SeddieFan99', 'fangirlallday13', 'PinaySeddier', 'Nkcandygirl', 'green aura', 'ILuvThisStory', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'twnklingsediestr', 'Kezziexx', 'Lauren', 'TheRockAngel', 'Seddie is the new purple', 'selfless seddie', and 'Akarandomfang'.**

'**ILuvThisStory' – I've learned my lesson this time to give you all warnings! Haha. Yep it would! Oh yes indeed; Guppy THE EVIL MINI MASTERMIND MUAHAHAHA! Teehee I wonder what his motive would be XD thanks for reviewing!**

'**twnklingsediestr' – yes MINE indeed! Oh my goodness I love your math book connection, I can relate dude. Thanks!**

'**Lauren' – teehee I have gotten da POWAH! I have control over youuuu. Thanks so much, you're awesome :)**

'**selfless seddie' – thanks! Yeah it is…maybe! Thank you again!**

'**Akarandomfang' – haha yeah I feel bad about only updating Saturday, but more than that would be impossible for me. Wow, I have a new level of respect for you. I'd never be able to survive without my computer that long! Haha, first world problems. But seriously, don't worry about it! You've always been reviewing so I love you for that.**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: Hour Twenty-Four

**Mat Kearney was AMAZING last night! I'm so glad he came to my college :) Check out his music if you haven't yet already. AND I TOUCHED HIS HANDDDDD!**

**LAST HOUR! Epilogue will come next week, followed by the prologue of the sequel…the name of which I'm still finalizing. Most likely will be 'The Next Sequence.'**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Hour Twenty-Four**

* * *

3:33 PM

Mustache Man starts the car, and Freddie fiddles with his seatbelt. _Why did I tell him that I knew? He'll take Sam far away long before we get there. I'm so STUPID!_

"I can't believe I told him," Freddie blurts.

Mustache Man glances at him from the front seat mirror, and his partner turns his head to look at the boy. "What?"

"If I let him think that I still didn't know, he'd have no problem keeping her there. Now he knows, and they'll probably be gone by the time we get there. And then…time's up," Freddie chokes.

Neither of the detectives answers him.

* * *

"Where are you taking me?" she whispers. _Where is a rescue team when I actually need one?_

"Don't worry; you'll see," he responds, tugging a slipping bra strap back on her sore shoulder. "Won't be long now."

Sam sniffles. "I'm not sure if I'm up for moving. I don't feel good."

"Well."

"Well, what?"

"It's 'I don't feel _well_.' We really need to work on your…never mind."

Something about it gives Sam a round of chills down her spine. "What?"

He's silent for a moment. "Can I let you in on a few secrets?"

"Uh, yeah." Sam's shoulder emits a thud-like crack, and she shudders.

He gets close to her ear and whispers, "I'm not working for anybody."

"But—"

"Nah, I was just messing with you. And your…frenemy kid."

She's silent.

"Oh, there's something else, too." He leans in closer and touches his lips to her ear. When Sam shrinks away, he grasps the opposite side of her head with a large hand and thrusts her face closer. "I don't plan on surviving today."

"W-what?"

He leans back again. "You honestly think they'll let me get away with killing you?"

Sam starts crying; she can't help it. "Please don't."

"It's fate, hun." He lays her straggled hair in specific places around her shoulders. She hears footsteps walk away from her in the dark, and then the door handle turns.

He sees that she's struggling to open her eyes in the blinding light and says, "Hold on; I'll let you get adjusted."

It takes a full minute of blinking and straining, but she looks around and just sees a dusty, square-shaped concrete closet. The man's figure is illuminated in the doorway, but he's facing her so that the shadow covers his face and identity.

"I think you look alright," he continues. "Maybe you're missing a few cuts along the left side of the neck, but we can fix that when we get situated." The figure comes over and scoops up her broken body.

"Don't TOUCH me! Put me DOWN!" It hurts everywhere, and she feels the poison from his touch seep into her bloodstream.

"I have a chair already positioned outside."

He carries her out of the empty storage closet and into the main part of the closed store. Sam's eyes widen in shock. "Are…are we…?"

"Yes."

Her heart sinks. It's in the middle of nowhere, and no one she knows has heard of the place, let alone knows she goes there when it's open during the week.

"Look, I doubt anyone will find us way out here," Sam begs. "Can we stay? AAAH! You're hurting me! Put me _down_!"

"The bane of your existence said he knew you were here. They are coming."

The sunlight blinds her some more when the man opens the front door, revealing the unkempt front lawn and a lone, rickety chair placed about ten feet from the doorway.

"What's going on?"

"I told you we were moving. I just didn't say how far."

_What's happening?_

"What's happening?"

"Well," the man grunts, still shielding his face with the hood of his sweatshirt. "I put you in this chair…" Sam lands with a clumsy bang, and her body lifelessly begins to slide off. "And I hold you up by your hair."

The man grasps a large clump of Sam's blonde locks, and she cries out. Most of her weight is now concentrated in the roots of her scalp…and most of the pain is…well, everywhere on her entire body.

"And then I get this thing out," he says, yanking a gun from the back of his pants. "Hold it to your head…" The metal feels cold against her skin. Even in the middle of June, Sam is shivering in her dirty underwear and bra. She feels exposed and gross and embarrassed and disgusting. She closes her eyes and lets tears flow freely. It will all be over soon.

"Before we die, can I at least know who you are?" Sam asks reluctantly.

He cups her chin, lifts it up, and smiles at her confused, then shocked, then terrified face.

"And now we wait."

* * *

"You've got to drive faster!" Freddie shouts at Mustache Man for the seventeenth time in the last twenty-nine minutes.

"Look, kid, he's trying, alright?" the detective's annoying partner retorts. "We can't fly."

"But he could be moving her! We need to get there NOW!"

Mustache Man is silent, confirming the possibility of Freddie's fears. The other policeman launches into another rant about repetition and patience that lasts long enough for Freddie to say, "Wait! Turn here! It'll be on the left corner of the next street!"

"I know," Mustache Man speaks up for the first time that trip. "I have GPS, Freddie." Then he draws in a breath. So does Freddie.

"They're there," he whispers.

Tens of police cars pull into the parking lot on the opposite side of the street, sirens howling. SWAT teams and other uniformed men leap out, crouch beside their cars and behind open car doors, guns aimed and loaded.

Freddie can't see exactly what's happening because everything is just moving so fast. As Mustache Man finally shifts into Park, Freddie opens the door and screams her name.

"SAM!"

She's been expecting it and bracing for it, and yet that one word sends a powerful shock throughout her body.

Mustache Man tackles Freddie to the ground when the latter tries to run toward the girl. They struggle for a few seconds.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

Both Mustache Man and Freddie stop cold. _Wait, I know that voice…_

"Would you please let Fredward Benson up?" The man shouts.

He does, and Freddie scrambles up to see the blonde with a gun at her head. The blood drains from his own head, and his fingers start to tingle. "Sam…" he breathes.

Scrapes and bruises and cuts and awkward limb angles and blood. Sam not having the courage to look up and face the world, humiliated by her lack of clothing.

"First lesson: you can't rely on anyone," the non-morphed voice continues. "I was always on the run, and I had _no_ one to turn to."

Freddie swallows.

"Second lesson: Always expect the unexpected. I was never planning on having to disappear, you know. Until you screwed everything up for me, Freddie."

He tries, but no words come out.

"Third lesson: Don't climb a tree to escape a mountain lion. Mountain lions climb trees, Freddie. They'll catch you eventually. Just like how your escape attempt from me was futile."

All he can do is shake his head.

"Mr. Fredward Benson in Apartment 8D."

The man jerks his head backward, freeing the hood from his head. At the exact same time, it all makes sense. Freddie's heart stops.

"You…"

"Me. And your precious Samantha Puckett."

Hearing her name, the girl forces herself to slowly lift her face, careful not to startle the man with the gun at her head. Tears are streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes catch Freddie's, and he breaks down.

"SHOOT HIM! JUST SHOOT HIM!" He screams, crying and tugging on Mustache Man's shirt. "DO IT!"

"Oh, Freddie," the man declares. "They know better than that. Because then my lifeless finger pulls the trigger that exterminates your little girlfriend."

Freddie hears Sam sniffle and let out a muffled sob. "Let her GO! What do you want me to do? I'm sorry!"

"If you were sorry, you would have never given that tape to the police."

Freddie goes into another round of tears. "I'm sorry! I'd take it back! I swear!"

"I'm sure you would _now_," the man replies sarcastically. "You want to know something, Freddie? You made my life a LIVING HELL!"

"I'm sorry!"

"I couldn't be at the hospital for my mother when she died! I was orphaned because of YOU!" His voice booms across the several feet between them. "My face was splattered all over the news, and even my own mother believed I was a monster! They'd have me hauled away in a heartbeat even if I showed up to my own mother's deathbed!"

"I'm sorry! No one should have to go through that," Freddie tries, his entire body shaking.

"You're right on that one. She was the LAST thing on this Earth that I cared about, and you took her from me! You took her and now I'm taking what matters to you. 4:32 PM, Freddie. Funny, isn't it? That's the time my mother died on this day of this month of last year. I guess you really don't need to say the one after all."

A flashback of the previous week's webshow flashes across Freddie's mind.

"_Alright, here we go. We're live in four…three…two…"_

"Please don't…"

"Say goodbye to Sam in four, three, two—"

Shots explode in the air.

Everything happens in slow motion. Both the man and Sam tumble to the ground, unmoving. Freddie's screaming, but he can't hear anything. He's sure that Mustache Man is screaming too as Freddie runs toward her. The devil and Sam lying lifelessly on the ground…

It takes centuries for him to reach her, and when he does, he collapses on his knees, scraping his palms on the dead, brown grass. Freddie sobs and cradles Sam's limp, tiny body tightly against his chest. He's rocking her and screaming and crying and beside himself.

Freddie doesn't realize until many seconds later that his screams are not the only ones that are bursting his eardrums.

"OW! NO! LET ME GO! STOP! AAAAAHHHH!"

It hits him like a brick wall, and out of utter shock, he drops her back onto the ground, and she shrieks again, unable to handle the pain.

"Sam?" he whispers.

She's just sobbing and yelling and begging for it all to stop. Freddie simply stares at her, watching the girl he thought he lost scream for help and peace. "Sam?" he says again.

Out of nowhere, two paramedics come and heave her broken body onto a stretcher and whisk her to a flashing ambulance vehicle.

"Sam?"

The medics are already inserting IVs in her arms and carefully strapping an oxygen mask around her nose and mouth.

"SAM!" And now he fully understands and is running to the red truck as the double doors are slammed shut with her inside. It's like he's getting farther away by trying to get closer. The wheels of the ambulance squeal, and just like that, she's taken away from him again.

"SAM!" He sinks onto the ground and cries his heart out. He doesn't know what he feels. Relief, exhaustion, panic, need…or everything at once. Freddie feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks through his tears up at Mustache Man. The detective's eyes brim with compassion and apologies, and Freddie gets a glimpse of the man's metal nameplate pinned on his uniform.

"Thank you, Detective Todd."

His shoulder receives a squeeze, and Detective Todd gives him a sympathetic smile. After seconds of silence between them, the man walks away.

Freddie isn't sure how they managed to shoot that demon and not Sam. He doesn't understand how the Voice's finger didn't put enough pressure on the trigger to fire his gun at Sam's head as he fell to his death.

The boy gets up off the ground and slowly makes his way to the dead man lying beside the chair. Police are already starting to gather around the body, talking into radios and taking notes on who knows what. Freddie pushes through them all and reaches the reason for it all. Emptiness and disbelief and anger and overwhelming hatred.

4:32 PM

"You have no more time, Shadow Hammer," Freddie spits.

* * *

**REVIEWWWWWW. Please? Remember there's still an epilogue. Oh and sorry about the cheesy one-liner at the end, haha. Shoutouts to 'rimdsloveseddie', 'twnklingsediestr', 'SeddieFan99', 'PinaySeddier', 'scribblesandriddles', 'irishfan62', 'Nkcandygirl', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'Seddieforlife', 'Julziexx3', 'ILuvThisStory', 'Guest', 'Lauren', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'selfless seddie', 'Kezziexx', 'nadene-seddiefan', 'akarandomfang', 'green aura', and 'its-ackim95'. **

'**twnklingsediestr' – oh no dude, I honestly love you too. Thanks! And my only awesome math teacher was senior year of high school. Hopefully you'll have the same luck!**

'**ILuvThisStory' – oh my goodness yeah it took an annoyingly long period of time, ha. Yeah I am in love with that song! Don't thank me! I want to thank you for always reviewing and putting a smile on my face.**

'**Guest' – thanks so much!**

'**Lauren' – bahahaha thanks! Hopefully that excitement will continue into the sequel :)**

'**selfless seddie' – all has been revealed! I'm so evil for putting so many red herrings out there…and thanks!**


	26. Epilogue: Aftermath

**Oh yeah, I totally forgot to acknowledge the ONE reviewer who guessed the Shadow Hammer a few chapters ago: 'seddie perfection'. Nice call! I got so depressed when you guessed it though…haha. I was deceiving everyone so well!**

**Epilogue: Aftermath**

* * *

"What are you doing to me? Stop!" Her voice is muffled by some scratchy thing around her mouth. Sam wants it off, but her arms are obviously not pleased with her at the moment.

"It's okay, you're safe now. We're here to help."

It's a man's voice. Sam refuses to let that bother her, but it does anyway.

"Don't look at me!"

"We have a blanket over you. Please, try to relax."

Sam forces herself to open her good eye, and a small, white area with overstocked shelves and bizarre contraptions greets her. She turns her head a little to see a man in his mid-forties preparing a syringe. "My name is Frank. You'll be okay."

"What are you doing?" Sam yells out in pain as the ambulance goes over a small bump in the road.

"This is a pain reliever. You may feel a slight pinch and then a little sleepy, but—"

"Okay! Just give it to me! Make it stop!" Sam starts bawling, not even caring at this point if the man witnessed it.

"No problem." Frank turns his head. "Hey, could you get me that band over there?"

Through her tears, Sam sees a younger guy, maybe a few years older than her, move around the vehicle and hand Frank an elastic band. She makes eye contact with Frank's assistant for a few seconds as the band is wrapped around a good part of her arm. His face shows pity and horror and empathy and everything Sam hates, so she looks away.

"Just relax now…" the sharp object enters her arm, but Sam barely notices. She's too busy slipping into unconsciousness.

* * *

"When can I see her?"

Detective Todd walks Freddie back to the squad car. "My guess is that they'll have her in surgery for the next few hours. She'll also probably be on a lot of pain killers for at least a few days."

Freddie covers his eyes and rubs them furiously. "Can I wait at the hospital anyway?" he whispers.

"Sure."

"And please tell my mom to leave me alone right now. I don't need her grief."

Detective Todd hesitates. "Okay."

* * *

It's been over five hours now. Freddie's grown tired of counting the floor tiles in the hospital waiting room. He's watched the desk receptionist do her work for a countless number of minutes. The second hand on the wall clock doesn't turn fast enough. Doctors that come out into the lobby never come to talk to him.

His pocket vibrates against his thigh, and he sighs when he sees the Caller ID. Freddie deliberates whether he wants to answer it, and then does.

"Hi."

"Freddie! We're back in Seattle. Have you found her yet?"

"Yeah," his voice rasps.

"Oh thank God! Is she okay? How is she?" Carly sounds like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"She's in surgery right now."

"Sur…surgery? Wh—what _happened_? Is she going to be okay?"

Freddie can't help himself, so he starts crying. "I don't know; no one's telling me anything. A lot happened to her. A lot."

Carly manages, "What hospital are you at? Spencer and I are coming right now."

"Virginia Mason."

* * *

"I'm sorry; visiting hours are over at nine. It's after eleven right now."

"But I have to see her!" Freddie shrieks at the flustered nurse. "_We_ have to see her!" Carly corrects with an equal amount of desperation. "Yeah!" Spencer adds a little less convincingly.

"I'm sorry. It's a courtesy for our other patients. And Samantha is asleep right now from all of the painkillers; you wouldn't be able to talk to her anyway." The aging woman turns a couple pages on her clipboard. "She'll recover, but her injuries are severe. They'll take several months to fully heal. If Samantha wants later, we can perform some aesthetic type surgeries to correct some burns and other scars. But right now, my suggestion is that you all go home, get some rest, and come back tomorrow at nine. She should be somewhat conscious by then."

* * *

Gross. Her mouth tastes terrible.

Sam wakes up slowly, dizzy and disoriented. Her throat craves something to drink, and her tongue feels like heavy cotton. Her eyelids reluctantly separate, and she sees her own private room. It's plain and boring though, and Sam immediately wants to fall back asleep.

The handle on the door to her room squeaks, and Sam fully wakes up, heart pounding and adrenaline racing.

"Oh, I—uh, did I wake you up?"

He looks familiar, but Sam can't place him. "A little," she snaps. "Who are you?"

The boy enters the room and closes the door. "I was in the ambulance with you and…uh…Frank." Now Sam remembers his dark blond hair and slightly unshaven jaw. "I…uh…just got off my night shift and wanted to see how you were. Well, I'm technically not supposed to be here since I'm just the assistant to an ambulance care assistant and don't have access…but I—if you're uncomfortable with me being here since I'm a…guy…then feel free to tell me to shut up and leave, because—"

"Stop," Sam interrupts.

"Yeah, sorry; I'm a little nervous."

"No, not that. Why are you here? Is this a pity trip?"

She expects the guy to stutter some more, but he's refreshingly honest. "Yeah."

Her eyebrows go up, and he continues, "Sorry to be blunt. I was just…I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Sam snorts bitterly. "Oh, I'm just _fine_. Perfect. Thanks for asking."

"Sorr—"

"And what was that stupid idea about me wanting you to leave since you're a guy? Just because I was raped by a man doesn't mean I'm suddenly afraid of the entire male species. Grow up." He does set her on edge, though.

"Right. You're right." He bites his lip.

They stare at each other in silence for a few moments.

"So…how are those pain meds?"

Sam swallows. "Wearing off."

"Want me to get someone?"

"You aren't supposed to be here in the first place, right?"

"Right." He pauses and awkwardly clears his throat. "Right. Well, you can press that button to your right for help."

Sam eyes the red circle. "Good grief. I feel like I'm on an episode of _House_."

He smiles a little bit, but suddenly, Sam glares at him. "Were you a perv?"

His eyes widen. "Uh, what?"

"Did you…look at me...before the blanket was on?"

"No," he quickly blurts. "They already had it on you by the time you were loaded into the ambulance."

Sam eyes him warily, but she can't detect any hints of a lie. "Whatever. How old are you anyway? You look a little young to have a job that decides whether people live or not."

"Uh, I'm starting med school at University of Washington next year. I skipped the sixth grade, so…yeah."

"That's still young to work in an ambulance. What are you, like twenty-three?"

"Twenty-two. Frank's my dad. He pulled some strings for a summer internship, I guess. But he wouldn't have done it if he didn't think it was safe," he quickly adds.

Sam snorts. "Sure." The boy is silent. "So do you have a name, smarty pants?"

"Seth."

Sam grunts. "Not smart enough to see that I can't reach the stupid button." The casts and slings all over her body are already annoying. Trying to move was a mistake, since the pain starts hitting her full-force.

"Here." Seth walks over and pushes it. His close proximity makes Sam nervous.

"Please leave."

He takes a few steps backward in surprise. "Uh, okay. Right. Not supposed to be here."

Seth opens the door, steps out, glances at the name plaque on the wall, and then sticks his head back in. "What should I call you? No offense, but you don't seem like the kind of person who likes to be called Samantha."

"Nice observation, Einstein. But what makes you think we'll see each other again?"

He just shrugs, so she gives in and grumbles, "It's Sam."

Seth gives her a tight grin. "Bye Sam."

* * *

Sam wants to pretend to be asleep from the pain medication that was given to her that morning before visiting hours. She doesn't feel like responding to everyone's apologies and concerns and…everything. She especially doesn't want to have to face Freddie yet.

She keeps her eyes shut and takes in slow, steady breaths as her door quietly opens. "She's asleep, but you can visit," some nurse whispers.

It takes a lot for Sam to not respond to Carly's gasps and sobs. She's missed her best friend. She hears Spencer swear and a chair being dragged near the head of the bed. "Sam?" she hears Freddie whisper. Her heart feels like it's choking her.

"Sam?"

* * *

Freddie lays his head, exhausted, on Sam's bed beside her, careful not to make contact. She looks so broken and lifeless. "Sam, I'm sorry…"

"Freddie," Carly says, sniffling, "It isn't your fault. Who knew that guy was so screwed up."

He looks up at the Shays with a haggard expression. "Did I honestly think that Spencer changing the apartment number outside my door would fix everything? God, I'm so _stupid_!"

"I should've been the adult," Spencer argues. "I can't believe I thought that it would work."

"Look, stop playing the blame game!" Carly shushes them. "We're here now, let's just…_be_ here. With Sam."

All three of them are quiet for a while and two other chairs are dragged near the bed.

The silence is interrupted after five minutes or so when the doctor walks in and asks quietly, "Is Sam's guardian here?"

Spencer stands up. "Not exactly, but her relatives are either in jail or dead or just…not able to be here."

"Well, then I—"

"Doc, just tell me what's going on," Spencer demands.

Freddie panics when the doctor takes Spencer's arm and leads him outside of the room, but Carly grabs his shirt. "It's probably a confidentiality thing, Freddie. Just stay here. Please?"

Reluctantly, he nods. But in no way is he put at ease.

* * *

"Doc, what is this about?" Spencer asks when the man closes the door.

"Well, for one thing, introductions. I'm Doctor Gale; I'll be taking care of Samantha for however long she'll be here." He reaches to shake Spencer's hand, which the latter impatiently accepts. "Second, I'm giving you a heads up on something that we'll be doing in about two weeks or so."

Spencer grows suspicious. "What?"

"Well, Samantha was raped, as you've heard." Spencer nods, swallowing hard. "There are certain tests that we need to take after an event like this."

A case of bubble brain gracefully surrounds Spencer at first. "Uh…what kind of tests?"

Doctor Gale flips through a stack of papers he has and tries to be emotionless when he says, "STD and pregnancy tests."

* * *

**Dun dun dun….or is it?**

**So Seth looks a little something like Chace Crawford…teehee. he is so fiiiiiiiiiine. **

**Thanks for those of you that read all the way through and put up with my...many eccentricities. Hopefully 'The Next Sequence'...premiering next Saturday...doesn't disappoint; I also hope you enjoyed the ride that was '24 Hours'!**

**All of you are way too nice! Thank you 'Kezziexx', 'PinaySeddier', 'twnklingsediestr' (x2), 'nadene-seddiefan', 'akarandomfang', 'Nkcandygirl', 'ILuvThisStory', 'LyshaLuvsSeddie', 'seddie perfection', 'rimdsloveseddie', 'Guest', 'GoingNuts', 'selfless seddie', 'hejk12345', 'irishfan62', 'SeddieFan99', 'KrisLovesSeddie', 'Julziexx3', 'unquestionable-honour', 'JJLHOTITEM1', 'Lauren', 'green aura', 'Seddie is the new purple', and 'NeyMcKress'. **

'**twnklingsediestr' – aw thanks so much!**

'**ILuvThisStory' – nice! Haha no problem, thanks for reading and reviewing! Aww, thank youuu! I'm just implying that Sam heard about the story from Freddie and Gibby and T-Bo, and then she saw the video. Teehee, that assumption is a stretch now that I think about it…**

'**Guest' – aw I'm glad you kept reading to see that she didn't die! Thanks so much!**

'**selfless seddie' – really? What story is that? thank you!**

'**Lauren' – THIS REVIEWER. Haha thanks for always commenting!**


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